


Duplicity

by GlassUmbrella



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Awkward Cullen, BAMF Cassandra, But with extra stuff, Canon Compliant, Cassandra Pentaghast Ships It, Cassandra Pentaghast's Disgusted Noises, Divine Cassandra Pentaghast, Dom Solas, Dom/sub Play, Drunk Solas, Elf/Human Relationship(s), Elfroot and chill, F/M, Fluff and Angst, In the Fade, Mages and Templars, Minor Cassandra Pentaghast/Varric Tethras, Minor Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus, Minor Lavellan/Cullen Rutherford, Moral Dilemmas, Multi, POV Cassandra Pentaghast, POV Solas, Porn With Plot, Rare Pairings, Romance, Sensual Solas, Sexy Cassandra Pentaghast, Sexy Solas, Shameless Smut, Slow Dancing, Solas Angst, Solas Feels, Solas Smut, Solas Spoilers, Solas is Fen'Harel, Sub Solas, The Winter Palace (Dragon Age), Topping from the Bottom, Tragic Romance, Trespasser DLC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2018-09-02 10:22:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 69,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8663932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlassUmbrella/pseuds/GlassUmbrella
Summary: The last thing Cassandra Pentaghast expects to find at the Winter Palace is romance. Then a seemingly harmless dance with Solas complicates matters. Solas has secrets that run deeper than the Inquisition knows, and the closer he gets to the Seeker of Truth, the greater the risk of revealing too much.





	1. The Winter Palace

**Author's Note:**

> Recent Updates:
> 
> 17/5/2018 - General updates & proofreading.
> 
> 17/4/2018 - 'Hanged Man' chapter added.
> 
> [[Looking for smut chapters? They are: 2, 7, 8, 13, 17]]

Solas sipped from a glass of champagne as he weaved comfortably through the crowded gallery toward the nearest whispering servants. Champagne glass in one hand and cream puff in the other, the elven mage found himself calm and content amid the whirl of intrigue and social scheming that presented itself in the grand halls of the Orlesian Court.

The Inquisition had its own business here at the Winter Palace, but Solas had more planned for this evening than he had shared with his companions. Solas was here for one reason above all others: to secure the eluvians Briala had hidden in the palace. 

As an elf, many here assumed he was only a servant, and that meant gaining access to information was not too difficult. It was just a matter of balancing his true purpose here with the Inquisition's: to prevent Empress Celene's assassination and thus ensure relative peace in Orlais. 

If everything went according to plan, this could end up being a very good night, Solas thought. 

“Ambassador, you look lovely this evening,” Solas said, as he neared Josephine. The servants he had been following would have to wait. Solas could not ignore the Ambassador. He joined Josephine by the balcony of the Grand Gallery, which overlooked the crowded ballroom below. “I applaud your choice of earrings. Elegant, yet restrained.”

“Oh. Thank you, Solas,” Josephine said, her hand automatically moving to caress the baubles. “Really, you are too kind.”

The elven mage's gaze was quickly drawn elsewhere. Across the room, Seeker Pentaghast leaned against a pillar, looking despondent and cagily silent alongside a collection of chattering, animated nobles. 

“Is the Seeker not enjoying herself?” Solas asked the young Ambassador, suppressing a smile at the thought of Seeker Pentaghast's proven inability to navigate Court. He had seen the Seeker many times tonight: each time she had looked grimmer than the last. He felt a twinge of guilt at his own amusement. She did look miserable. Solas was sure The Seeker had been more cheerful than this while she was trudging through damp, spider-infested caves. 

Josephine glanced across the room toward Cassandra, then turned to Solas. 

“As ever, Solas, you have a talent for understatement.” The Ambassador sighed. “The Seeker is—well, as you can imagine, she is quite out of her element at an Orlesian Ball. Between rebuffing the ill-advised flirtations of a few... _interesting_ dukes and avoiding smalltalk with the Dowager, I am somewhat worried the Seeker is going to knock the teeth out of some unsuspecting nobleman before the night is over.”

Solas laughed.

“I would like to see that,” he admitted.

“ _I_ would not.” The note of exasperation in Josephine's voice was not lost on Solas.

“Then perhaps I will keep an eye on her, Ambassador,” Solas suggested, his gaze lingering on Cassandra as she glared at a passing gentleman.

“Oh!  _Would_ you?" asked Josephine, a little too hopefully. Solas merely nodded.“Thank you,” said Josephine, so appreciative that Solas half expected her to clasp his hands in thanks. “I cannot _possibly_ keep track of _every_ socially offensive member of the Inquisition this evening. It seems that is… well, _most_ of the Inquisition. And I promised poor Cullen I would rescue him from that throng of admirers, if I could… Look at them all! And then there is the matter of the Iron Bull.” Ambassador Montilyet looked particularly desperate. “He has already entangled himself in a low-hanging chandelier, eaten an entire serving tray of pastries, and caused more than one person to simply _faint_.” 

Solas smiled. Bringing the Iron Bull to the Winter Palace was bound to produce such results. Still, it did not matter. The more attention the others drew to themselves tonight, the easier it would be for Solas to do what he must.

He turned once more to Ambassador Montilyet.

“I trust someone will contact me if there is any news of the… attempt,” Solas said, dropping his voice to a whisper.

“Yes, of course,” said Josephine, discreetly. 

“Until then, I have some matters of my own that I must attend to."

“Oh?” Josephine prompted. 

“Namely finding out where I can get another of these charming pastries,” Solas assured her, as he swallowed the last of his cream puff. “They are delicious.” He offered Josephine a curt smile, and parted ways with the Ambassador, disappearing into the throngs of chatting nobles and serving elves.  

*

Cassandra was not having a good night. 

As the Inquisitor wrapped things up inside the Palace with Celene and her people, Cassandra had taken the opportunity to slip out to an empty balcony and breathe the fresh air. She did not think she could endure another minute of this cursed place.

They may have just prevented Empress Celene’s assassination, and ensured her loyalty to the Inquisition, but if Cassandra was being honest then fighting off Duchess Florianne had probably been the _least_  uncomfortable part of the evening. 

This was the first moment of peace Cassandra had been able to find all night, having finally extricated herself from the clutches of the court ladies and their nauseating guile-filled smalltalk, the lecherous politicians, and the gossipmongers keen to share the petty details of every illicit relationship, real or imagined, that they supposed might be unfolding between the members of the court. 

The entire atmosphere left her with nothing so much as a general disgust for the pettiness and selfishness of the rich, and by extension, humanity in general. That she herself was a member of nobility only made the whole sorry affair all the more embarrassing to endure.  

Looking out at the still gardens at last, she let out a sigh and massaged a kink from her neck. 

“Seeker.” Cassandra frowned, then turned around and sighed gently with relief: it was only Solas. “I see you have found some reprieve from the machinations of the ball.”

The mage was dressed as they all were, in the Inquisition's red formalwear, and he also wore a curious helmet. In one hand, he had a full glass of champagne. Cassandra would not have put Solas down for a lush, but she had rarely seen him without a drink all night.

“Solas. What a relief. Please tell me it is _finally_ time for us to leave.”

“The Inquisitor is still inside," he replied, "but it cannot be long before we depart." Solas paused a moment. "We were successful in our mission with the Empress. Are you not pleased?” he asked, his voice curious and mild, as he joined Cassandra near the edge of the railing.

Cassandra merely let out a heavy sigh, and crossed her arms. 

“You look as though you may need this more than I do,” Solas said, smiling, and offered her his glass of champagne. She took it, and, tipping her head back, Cassandra downed the glass in a single gulp. She slid the empty glass back to the elven mage, across the ornate railing. 

“Impressive,” Solas said, quirking one brow. Cassandra smiled. She enjoyed surprising him. It seemed fairly easy to do; as if he had first imagined her to be without sin or talent. What did he know of humans, after all? Before all this he had been living a hermit's life, staying well away from Templars.

For his part, the hedge mage seemed to be far too relaxed in this setting. 

“You look very _comfortable_ here, Solas,” Cassandra pointed out. Solas regarded her with a polite, careful silence. She frowned. “Though that… _head garb_  does not suit you.”

Cassandra could not stop staring at it. It was a pointed metal hat that very well could have been stolen from a decorative suit of armour.   
  
“Nor does this red livery suit _you,_ I am afraid,” Solas countered. 

Cassandra regarded her own bland red attire with a dose of disgust.

“You will hear no disagreement from me,” she replied. “But could you really see me in a _dress_? Squeezed into a corset and dolled up like one of these tiny Orlesian women? Ugh.” 

She made a face. 

“No,” said Solas, smiling easily now. He rested his elbows on the rail and took in the view of the moonlit gardens below. “That would deny your true nature. I would rather see you exactly as you _are_. Exactly as you wish to be seen.”

Cassandra fell silent, and for a moment they simply gazed out at the view of the manicured palace grounds under the evening sky, side by side. 

Most of the time, Solas was saying something either monstrously baffling or deeply troubling, but sometimes, thought Cassandra, the mage said exactly what she needed to hear. 

“Thank you, Solas...” She did a terrible job of stifling a sudden yawn. “...It has been a long night.”  
  
Solas was giving Cassandra a curiously mischievous glance. She wondered just how many glasses of champagne he had consumed over the course of the evening and wrinkled her nose at the thought. The last thing she wanted to see was the Inquisition's esteemed rift mage vomiting over the parapet. 

“Do you dance, Seeker?” he asked, bluntly. 

Surely he must be joking. 

“Me? Dance? I… well, I suppose I do, _technically_ , know how. Though it has been a long time.”

“I admit it has been a long time for me as well,” said Solas, holding out his arm as though he meant for her to take it. Cassandra could only stare at him and blink. “Come, Seeker.”

“Are you—asking me to dance with you, Solas?”

“No,” he said.  _Thank the Maker._ “I am declaring that you must. It was  not a topic open to debate.”  _Maker be damned._  
  
With that, Solas took her gently by the elbow and began to steer her back toward the doorway to the ballroom. Cassandra immediately snorted out a disbelieving laugh. She sometimes forgot what nerve he had. Solas was not one to put much stock in rank or title; though she technically outranked him, Cassandra rarely felt that this held one bit of sway over him.  
  
This boldness of his had always been troubling.

“ _Declaring_ that I must? You would do well to try, apostate,” Cassandra said, and jabbed him lightly in the upper arm. He smiled, and, undeterred, pulled her alongside him easily. Cassandra rolled her eyes, sighing, as she let Solas lead her through the open doors to the grand gallery, determined to calm the odd nervous flutter in her chest as she walked with him.

“Solas,” she began again. “ _If_  an elven apostate and the Seeker were to share a dance... It is… It _would_ _be_... sure to make people talk.”

“People will _always_ talk,” Solas said, his hand still gently clasping her arm against his own. “That much is certain.”

They passed by the remaining throngs of masked nobility and made their way toward the ballroom floor at the bottom of the grand staircase. Cassandra wondered if it was truly too late to change Solas's mind.

They descended the ballroom stairs, arm in arm. 

“Also, you forget, Seeker. You will not be dancing with an apostate. You will be dancing with the Inquisitor’s elven serving man,” he deadpanned.

Cassandra had to admit, she was fond of his dry wit. Another man might have taken offence to being introduced to the room as a servant earlier, but Solas seemed to find it merely amusing. The more time she spent with the elven mage, the more she realized he was not nearly as academic and stuffy as she had once supposed. Still, in the months that had passed since Haven, Solas had definitely not gotten any less  _strange._

“It would seem we are not the only ones to have this idea,” Solas observed, nodding toward the other side of the ballroom, where Iron Bull and Dorian were dancing... together. The enormous Qunari mercenary and the handsome Tevinter mage struck an odd couple, waltzing in their matching Inquisition uniforms.

“Oh… _my_ ,” Cassandra breathed. More than a few people were doing double takes, and whispering fervently. Bull and Dorian both looked quite pleased with themselves.

As they stood at the edge of the ballroom's glossy floor, Cassandra looked at Solas, trying to assess his level of sobriety. It was difficult to discern. But he did look suspiciously... delighted?

“Shall we?” he asked, his usually serious face surprisingly open and expectant. 

Damn this evening. She was not going to get out of this, was she?  

“I will endure this on one condition, Solas,” Cassandra said, humouring the mage. “You must remove that truly awful helmet.”

Solas opened his mouth in protest, but Cassandra was already lifting the heavy, awkwardly-shaped helmet off of his head.

“Seeker, I…” Solas began, trailing off as her fingers accidentally brushed the soft sides of his ears. His jaw snapped shut and he looked away, blinking. 

“There. That is much better," Cassandra declared, placing the offending head garb on the knob of the nearby bannister, as if it was a convenient hat rack. When she turned back to Solas, the elf was smoothing one hand over the top of his bald head.  


Cassandra stepped closer, feeling a little more confident.  Solas straightened up, holding out his hand once more as the band struck up a tune. 

“May I have this dance, Seeker?”

"You may."

Cassandra took his offered hand, and they joined the other dancers on the gleaming ballroom floor. Above them, candles burned in an enormous chandelier. The band played a traditional and rather simple Orlesian waltz, which was close enough to a Nevarran waltz that Cassandra did not feel completely lost.   
  
Solas placed a hand on Cassandra's waist in a gentlemanly fashion.

It occurred to her suddenly that she had never stood quite so close to Solas before. She had never given much thought to his height. Cassandra was fairly tall for a woman, and most of the male elves she'd met had been at least a couple of inches shorter than she was. She was surprised, and even a little irked, to find herself looking very slightly _upward_ to meet his eyes. She straightened her spine hopefully, mirroring his straight posture. He was still taller.  
  
It was only half an inch, thought Cassandra, but still. It was half an inch she had been _sure_ she had on him.

“For an elf, you are quite tall, Solas,” Cassandra observed awkwardly, as they waltzed. 

“So I have been told,” Solas said evenly. 

It occurred to Cassandra that tonight, in place of his usual cloth foot wraps, he was wearing shoes, as she was. So _that_ was it. 

Solas steered her gently across the floor, like he did this every day. Cassandra gritted her teeth, acutely aware of her clammy palms and her sloppy steps in stark contrast to his graceful ones. She must look like an idiot right now. Solas was surely going to regret ever convincing her to do this. 

Cassandra had to admit, though she enjoyed surprising Solas, she was surprised _by_  him at least as often. Where had he learned to dance a nobleman's waltz? In the Fade? That was really the only explanation...

Back in Nevarra, in her youth, Cassandra had learned to dance, as noble women must. Of course she had hated every minute, and was constantly scolded and reminded by her teachers not to be so forceful in her execution of the steps, lest she prevent the _man_ from leading. At least once or twice,  those dancing lessons had ended when a young gentleman was rushed off clutching a broken nose and nursing a bruised ego.

Her mind flickered back to the present, where Solas led her subtly. He gave her ample room to move on her own, and was not in the least bit pushy. Also, he was graciously forgiving as she muddled the odd step, trying to recall the dance back into her muscles' memory. It was not really so different from dodging and parrying, was it? 

The Seeker glanced around the room at the other dancers in their peacock-like finery.

“That man, the fat duke, is _staring_ at me,” Cassandra disparaged. “Maker knows _why_. I have been trying to avoid him all evening…”

“Seeker,” Solas spoke softly. Only to her. She felt his hand adjust its grip of her own. She hoped her palm was not as sweaty as it felt. “You have turned more than one head tonight, already. _You_ do not need any frivolous adornment to attract the attention of a man with but an ounce of taste. Your presence alone is enough. A stark and honest beauty such as yours stands out in a crowd of people desperate to disguise their flaws.”

Cassandra was speechless for a moment.

“Solas. How many glasses of champagne did you have?”

“A number,” the elf admitted, vaguely. “But that is beside the point.”

“ _Is it_?” Cassandra pressed, fixing him with a shrewd stare. Solas said nothing. He may have turned slightly pinker in the ears, but it may have only been a trick of the light. “What is more,” Cassandra added, “we have barely spoken all evening, Solas. How do _you_ know how many heads I have turned? Have you been _spying_ on me?” she joked.

“Perhaps I have,” he admitted, and eased her body a little closer to his, with a languid confidence that made Cassandra's stomach drop a little. 

“Oh?” she managed to say, quietly. 

“Though I only had your best interests in mind,” he added. 

Solas looked back at her with a strikingly singular focus. Even a few inches away from them, she realized that she could not be sure exactly what to name the colour of his keen almond-shaped eyes. She swallowed, and had to break eye contact, feeling flushed as she  noticed, far too late, that Solas' charm this evening went beyond good humour.

Solas was...  _smooth?_

They changed direction abruptly. Solas twirled her around him, then pulled her in close again, so that they were once again facing one another. 

“Ah, you remember the steps now,” he observed, his voice warm and discrete. Both qualities she appreciated.

“Yes. You are a—a very _patient_ partner.” 

"I admit, I am surprised you agreed to oblige me," he said, after a while.

"Ah," Cassandra stammered. "Well. What harm could there be in a dance between friends?" 

The music slowed a great deal and the band began to play something in a different key. It soon became apparent that this new piece of music was too slow, and entirely too romantic for anyone but lovers to be dancing to. Cassandra felt a swell of relief, along with a pang of disappointment. They would have to stop dancing. Any moment now. The thought of escaping her predicament was a welcome one, but Solas did not let her go. 

In fact, he moved closer to her.

The rest of the room seemed to disappear around Cassandra as her awareness shrank down to the immediacy of being in the elven mage's arms, swaying slowly.

“Friends?” Solas repeated, his voice dropping to a whisper as he tested the word out. “Not colleagues?”

Cassandra shut her eyes for a moment, trying to refocus herself. The music was sultry and low. Solas's chest was so close to hers that she could feel his body heat.

“I suppose I..." Cassandra struggled for the words. "Perhaps that was presumptuous of me."

“Not at all,” he said, politely. “I am pleased to hear it.”

He was _pleased_ to hear it? Did he not prefer the company of spirits to people? 

She was blushing furiously. Solas's hand pressed on the small of her back now, firmly, willing her to close the shrinking space between their chests and push her breasts into him fully. And she _wanted_ to. Maker, she couldn’t. Not _here_... 

“I suppose, all things considered, we still do not know very much about one another, do we?” Cassandra said, clinging desperately to any strand of conversation she could muster now. 

“True,” Solas replied. 

Cassandra swallowed. _Get yourself together_ , she thought. She was Cassandra Pentaghast. Dragon slayer. Right Hand of the Divine. Not some delicate, blushing lady of the court. She would not be intimidated by a  _dance,_ with  _Solas_ , of all people.

“I have heard that you are fond of poetry,” Solas said casually, breaking the silence of her mounting internal panic.

“Where did you hear that?” Cassandra asked, warily. Maker. Of all the things to bring up!

“I noticed you have a penchant for borrowing  _Carmenum di Amatus_ from Skyhold's library.”

Cassandra watched Solas's impassive expression with interest. She knew the poetry anthology well. It had been banned outright by the Chantry, for being unapologetically suggestive at times.  
  
“Oh. You did, did you?” Cassandra asked, as a couple of masked dancers brushed quickly past them.

“I was actually looking for the book myself, when a dutiful librarian informed me that it was two weeks past due...” Solas answered, and pulled her gently against him for a moment, as they moved away from the exiting dancers. At the briefest touch of his firm chest to hers, Cassandra felt a deeper flush take hold. The sudden touch broke her concentration, and she stepped on his foot clumsily, muttering a half-hearted apology.

“No harm done,” Solas said softly.

“I was... very busy. I returned it eventually.”

_Maker._ Why were they talking about her questionable reading choices? Wait. Why had _Solas_ been looking for the book?

Cassandra tried to think of something interesting to say to change the subject, but all she could think about was how close they were. Surely she must be overreacting. Solas looked so calm, after all. _That was how dancing worked_ , Cassandra reminded herself. You had to stand close together. It didn't _mean_ anything. 

Solas leaned close to her ear, and whispered. His voice caressed each syllable with care. 

“ _His lips on mine speak words not voiced, a prayer; w_ _hich travels down my spine like flames that shatter night,_ ” he quoted.

She did her best to appear casual, though she was sure that hearing him recite that verse was making her go an even deeper shade of red.

“I see it left an impression.”

She was rewarded with a soft, lilting chuckle from Solas. 

“It did.”

“Do you often make a point of memorizing Tevinter poetry, Solas?”

“That passage only, I am afraid. It is an _intriguing_  book to be sure, though, as with many efforts to come out of Tevinter, one could say it is rather enamoured with itself and a bit longwinded.”

“One could certainly say that.”

She peered into his clever eyes, and found a sweetness there that she had not expected to see so plainly. His pupils were large, blown wide open in the chandeliers’ candlelight. 

After a few long moments of internal debate, Cassandra leaned a little closer to the mage.

“ _His eyes reflect the heavens' stars, the Maker's light_ …” Cassandra kept her voice utterly soft, lest someone nearby overhear the Seeker reciting scandalous Tevinter poetry to an Elven Mage. “ _My body opens, filled and—blessed_ …” Cassandra continued, determined not to laugh. “— _My spirit there. Not merely housed in flesh, but brought to life.”_

“Well spoken,” he said, smirking. Amusement really became him, she thought. He should wear it more often.

Guided by the suggestive weight of Solas’s hand on her back, Cassandra allowed herself to relax a little and pressed in closer to him, as she had been aching for some long minutes to do, but had felt too timid until now to give in and try. She felt a flush of heat as her breasts were pressed firmly against his chest, and they danced, cheek to cheek.

“I suppose you can always trust the Imperium to call their thinly disguised smut _art,_ ” she mused.

Solas's lip curled. 

“I think one could safely assume nearly _everything_ passing itself off as refined and civilized is really about sex.” 

Two things occurred to Cassandra at once. First, this was definitely the first time she had heard Solas say the word 'sex'. Second, how had she not noticed before tonight that this man's voice was made of pure dark honey? The third thought, staggering lamely after the first two, was _'does that statement apply to dancing--to this whole event--? Yes, Cassandra, obviously it does you fool, and he knows it does and you know it does, and oh Sweet Maker, why did she agree to dance with him when she could have so easily declined?'_

Cassandra forgot where she was. She forgot the other dancers, in their swathes of expensive fabric and gaudy masks. She forgot the judgmental gazes of dukes and duchesses. She forgot to feel foolish. She even forgot the threat of imminent war, the Breach, Corypheus, the Mages and the Templars, Orlais and Fereldan... 

There was only the snug warmth of Solas's firm body against hers. The easy shared quiet between them. There was only his hand, drifting now slightly lower than what could reasonably be called the small of her back _,_  resting in that grey area that was very nearly her rear, and holding her against him in a way that made her feel more urgently alive than she had in years. 

She caught herself lazily imagining the soft touch of his lips on hers, and the idea of kissing him seemed perfectly natural. Perfectly sane.

Cassandra considered this and was suddenly mortified. Oh, Maker. Why did she feel like this right now? _Why_? It must be the buzz of the champagne hitting her, she decided, and  pulled her head away so that she could face Solas, now. The music had stopped. When had it stopped? Her heart pounded. She was terrified that he could somehow read her mind. That he would know _exactly_ what she felt.  

“The music has stopped.” 

Anything to end the sweet ache of his embrace, before she did something she would regret. 

“So it has,” said Solas, and released her quickly, denying her all at once of the comfort of his careful hands.

Cassandra could not shake the sudden longing to return to the reassuring warmth and surety of his arms. She stood awkwardly at the edge of the dance floor, and cleared her throat, avoiding the mage’s eyes while the heat spreading across her cheeks persisted. 

“The bannister, or Solas’s head: who wore it better?” Dorian asked, stopping in front of them as the elf collected his hat. 

“Yeah, I’m gonna have to go with the bannister,” said Bull. 

“That was meant to be rhetorical,” Dorian snapped.

Bull grumbled something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like ' _touchy little Vint bastard always has to be...'_ , as Dorian turned to the Seeker. “So, Cassandra, I see you and Solas finally decided to enjoy yourselves tonight?”

“I—we—yes, we did,” she replied, tersely. 

“Solas, my goodness!” Dorian cried. “What have you done to the poor Seeker? She’s blushing like a cherry tart.”

“I—am _not,_ ” Cassandra protested _. “_ It is the heat. It is very hot.”

Solas shot Dorian a sharp look. 

“I’m with the Seeker,” said Bull. “Let’s get out of here. I’m sweating like a fat apostate in a Chantry. No offence, Solas.”

“None taken,” Solas assured him.

Cassandra made a note to ask Cole to teach her how to master the art of spontaneous invisibility. 


	2. Impulsive and Ill-considered

Upon leaving the ball at the Winter Palace, the Inquisition had walked a short ways to their temporary lodgings, in a chateau not far from the palace proper. The journey to Skyhold was a long one, and they were all glad to be able to rest for the night before their departure. One by one the members of the Inquisition had parted ways, each retiring to the guest bedroom that had been arranged for them. 

As they had arrived in the Guest Hall, Solas had caught the Seeker’s eye, only for a moment. They had both looked away, quickly. 

Relieved to be alone at last, Solas turned the lock on his door and sighed, setting his few belongings down. His room was decorated to suit Orlesian fashions. The queen-sized bed and stately furnishings were a far cry from his spartan rooms at Skyhold. There was an elegant fireplace built into the wall, across from the foot of the bed. With a wave of his hand, Solas summoned Veilfire, and green-blue flames ignited in the empty hearth, lighting the room. 

Solas removed his uncomfortable formalwear. Free at last, he laid himself down on the plush feather bed. Still tipsy from the champagne, still roused into a state of longing from his impulsive dance with the Seeker, he closed his eyes and allowed the world to spin a little around him. 

He had not felt so good in ages. 

Safe behind the locked door, now, Solas wanted no more than to muse, at great length, about what he knew he could never have. Securing the eluvians at Halamshiral had renewed his confidence, and the dance with the Seeker had roused him out of his solitary focus. Now simply the _idea_ of being someone’s lover was enough to excite him into a state of quiet exhilaration, and an ache to be the man he once was. To taste something more of the life he once had. 

Solas glanced at the clock. It was well past midnight. 

Down the hall, Cassandra was in her own room, probably much like this one. He imagined her there, alone. Peeling off her formal attire, finally, as he had. She would sigh with relief. He imagined leaving his room and stealing quietly down the hall to hers. He imagined knocking gently on her door. She would assume it was a servant, perhaps. She would open it, dressed in nothing but a gauzy shift... The pleasing curves of her hips and breasts just visible beneath the surface, pert nipples straining against the thin fabric... 

It had been a long time.

In another life, Solas had been... experienced. He had indulged in the perks of female affection and admiration many times. Perhaps too many. Though, the memories still made him smile. In his mind’s eye the role of the lover came back to him comfortably, like strapping into an old, well-worn set of armour.

Settled within the safety of his mind, he imagined Cassandra laid bare before him. She was a beautiful woman, though that mattered less to him than she knew. If she had not been remarkable enough to hold his interest, he would have been indifferent to the surface of her. Of all the humans he knew, Cassandra was perhaps the closest thing to a friend Solas had found among their kind, though they had never ventured much further than companionable talk. He thought of the way her wide honey brown eyes had looked up at him when they'd danced, and Solas wondered at how he had not been more interested in the tenderest parts of the Seeker before tonight. He found he wanted her here. Wanted to imagine her shape on the bed beside him. 

How would he do it? 

He would begin slowly. Though, it would not take much to send her over the edge, he imagined. A well timed word? A small physical reminder of his dominance? He would uncover the keys to her release, and use them, as he always did, to devastating effect. 

Though he would boast of it to no one, this was what he had lived for once, as a much younger man. His ability to please a lover was a talent he had honed, and a muscle that he had enjoyed flexing; even, on occasion, using to manoeuvre himself further toward a goal he desired. 

He had been so brash and hot-blooded, then… and yet, he had never felt closer to being that man again than he did now. 

Solas let out a small sound of longing. His hand had wandered lower, to hold himself as he hardened and ached quietly for release. In his younger days he had learned that few things brought him more pleasure than seeing a woman he truly admired rendered stupefied by carnal pleasure, freed from all else but the hot sweet crescendo he had orchestrated. 

It was not without good reason that pride was his badge. His name. His undoing. 

He knew in his heart he could not ever give Cassandra the physical absolution he longed to provide. It would be too much to bear, in the end, if they were to be lovers. It was kinder to abstain. Kinder to let himself imagine, and lull himself into a dream, instead. His eyelids fluttered. He moved his hand to please himself. 

This would have to be enough.

There was a knock at the door. 

Solas covered himself quickly, nearly biting his tongue as his eyes snapped open in surprise. He hoped this was not indicative of trouble. Still a little drunk and now more than a little aroused, he was not overly fond of the prospect of defending himself in his current state. 

Heart pounding, he wrapped the ivory comforter around himself like a robe, and padded barefoot to the door. He opened it, readying himself. 

Solas could only stare.

“Excuse the intrusion,” Cassandra said, in a halting whisper. “Solas. I—wish to speak with you.”

“No, I—I was—” _Best not to say._ “Come in…” He gestured for her to enter the room, careful to keep the evidence of what he had just been doing well-hidden beneath the folds of the blanket. 

She nudged the door shut behind her. 

They looked at one another in a taut silence, as Solas desperately held the blanket around himself in what he hoped was a dignified way but suspected was not.

“Trouble sleeping?” Solas asked brightly, searching Cassandra's face in the hope of discerning whether or not the reason for her sudden appearance was in fact what he thought it might be.  The Seeker was wringing her hands. In the faint mingling of the Veilfire and moonlight, Solas saw that she was wearing only a dark silk robe, tied at the waist. He took a step back. His heart was pounding so hard he wondered if she could hear it.

“Solas… Perhaps this is wrong of me, but…” Cassandra spoke in an urgent whisper, as she took a step closer, closing the space between them faster than Solas could widen it. She looked down and seemed to notice for the first time that he was clad in nothing but the blanket. She shook her head. “I am sorry, Solas. This is inappropriate of me. I... should not have come.” 

“Why have you, then?”

She hesitated for a moment, then stepped closer.

“I _needed_ to know if I was just—”  Cassandra placed both hands on Solas's shoulders gently, as she had during the dance. Solas’s eyes widened. “—imagining this," she admitted, her voice soft. 

“—Seeker, I…”

He knew he should let her down as kindly as he could. He should end this now, before he…

Cassandra's lips crushed into his, and he knew he wasn’t going to do any of that. 

Solas returned the kiss, with swift mercy, his hands moving to caress her jaw and neck. The kiss was gentle, at first, but soon it ignited, fuelled by mutual passion. He pressed his body against hers, surprised by the urgency he felt. The bare top of his thigh met with the already-wet patch of her arousal. He pressed his leg against her harder, before he could think to stop himself. It made her moan into the softness of his lips. 

“Oh, _Solas_ ,” the Seeker breathed, with a helplessness that he had never heard in her voice. She was usually so stoic. That he could elicit such a response from her… well, he liked it. Solas felt the blanket around him slipping downward, but he did nothing to stop it. 

Cassandra’s hands ran over the bare skin of his chest. 

He had not realized how starved for a woman's simplest touch he had been.   

Solas kissed her again, deeply now, pinning her against the wall. He felt the vibration of her moan as he trailed his lips and tongue down her neck and throat, his hips grinding into hers. Trapped between their bodies, the solid shape of his erection rutted shamelessly against her, making what he wanted perfectly clear.

How long was it, Solas wondered, since a man had been bold enough to make the Seeker feel like she could be a woman, in his arms?

In a fever, Cassandra let him undo her robe and smooth his hands down her belly, and lower. He was acting on pure instinct now, and instinct was crude and greedy for more of her. Solas ducked his head down and caressed her breasts, his mouth moving against them, softly at first, until he sucked each nipple in turn, squeezing both breasts firmly in his hands. He felt himself grow harder still. Cassandra's palm cradled the back of his head as he took her nipple deeper in his mouth, excitement rushing through him as he gently bit and pulled it taut between his teeth. Her breath quickened as he sucked harder, then harder still, until she gasped and pushed his head away roughly. 

Cassandra half-smiled, half-gasped in what he could only interpret as impressed disbelief. Solas caught her eye as he straightened up, barely able to contain the reckless smile coming over him. 

"More than you bargained for, Seeker?" Solas asked in a playful whisper. 

She stared at him, smiling back, breathing hard as Solas stepped toward her, unhurried. Then he pinned her  back up against the wall with the slow firm press of his hips. 

"No?" he checked, and kissed her sweet mouth again, feeling her crumple and moan against him as he let his fingers run down her hips and finally press in between her thighs, even as he had her against the wall. She had already worked herself into such a state that his two curled fingers entered her easily. For a moment, their foreheads pressed together, and he watched Cassandra's eyes roll back at the moment of his fingers' penetration. He made a low sound of approval as he pressed up and inside the slick folds of her, finding her tight and wet for him. 

Normally, Solas would have taken his time with this. He would have teased it out of her slowly. But, he reminded himself, he had actually started all of this hours ago, with the dance, planting the seeds in her mind. He had no doubt she had just been touching herself, in her room. She had apparently gotten herself half of the way there already, when she decided she'd rather have him finish it. He should be ashamed of himself, the way he had laid it on so thickly during that dance. He _was_ ashamed of himself.  
  
All of this excited him beyond measure.

The idea of undoing her the rest of the way was… too enticing to pass up.

Solas went quickly to his knees, for a better angle. 

He watched her as he curled two fingers upwards, unhurried: each deliberate stroke feeling for the place that caused her to whine when he massaged it. His fingers were long and careful, and his firm strokes had rapidly found the right—

_“Oh_ , Maker...” she gasped, and squeezed his shoulders in a vice-like grip.

_There_ it was. 

Solas was a fast learner.

With his free hand, he rested his thumb on her clit, rubbing it back and forth gently as his fingertips attacked the place inside her that was making her twist and bite her lip to stifle her increasingly ragged cries. He hoped it wasn't too much for her. Cassandra's hands dug into Solas’s shoulders harder.

“ _That’s_ it,” Solas urged, easing her into the first wave. “Yes.”

Out of nowhere, Cassandra came fast and hard, her strong, lean muscles shuddering as she struggled to stay standing and stifle a scream of pleasure. Solas rubbed her through the shuddering crest, gentling the pressure as she stiffened. 

Solas looked up. The view from between Cassandra's legs made Solas harden. She looked wild, exhausted... surprised, even angry. He felt suddenly self conscious, by extension, knowing he had witnessed something of hers that he was never supposed to see. He couldn't look away, though. In the gentle blue-green glow of the Veilfire her straining body was tight and athletic: beautiful, and so different from delicate elven women. Her beauty came from her strength. Yes, there was something solid and undeniably... _human_  about her that he found perversely arousing. Everything about this woman's body, up until tonight, had been entirely forbidden to him.

Seeing Seeker Pentaghast so utterly out of control, so exposed, and so deliciously  _submissive..._ it drove Solas' own desire to a fever pitch.

Cassandra's legs wobbled as Solas helped her to the bed. With a guiding hand on the back of her neck, he pushed her down into the comforter, watching the curve of her backside swell as she bent forward under him. Sprawled, prone, on her stomach, there was no protest from her as Solas rose behind her and parted her legs.  
  
This wasn't over yet. Far from it.  
  
He heard her gasp as he gripped her hips and simply pulled her back onto his length without preamble. He heard her choke back the cry of pleasure as he sank in deep, and all at once. Her knuckles whitened as she gripped the sheets. Still, she submitted without question, moaning out the deepest urgency of her pleasure.

"Good," he whispered raggedly, every nerve in his body screaming for him to fuck her.

But he waited, relishing in the sensation of being inside her finally, resting his chest along her back and breathing deeply with her. It felt so good. So right. He closed his eyes. 

Finally Solas eased her up onto her knees and found the little bead of her clit again with his right hand, reaching around her hip to caress it. She was so wet now, this was almost too easy. 

Solas held her body up against his chest, with one hand resting gently on her throat, keeping her firmly in front of him, bent like a bow. Buried in her like this, even staying relatively still, was driving him mad. He could feel her body respond and tighten around the foreign shape of his thick erection. Every breath of hers was a little moan now. 

Not yet, he told himself. _Not yet._ He wanted to feel her come while she was impaled on his cock. He wanted to feel this tight sheathe of her squeeze in harder still around him, of its own volition, pleasing him even at the peak of her arousal, as she came apart again. And he wanted it badly.

“Can you come again?” he whispered, lips brushing her ear. When she did not answer he let his fingers slowly circle her slippery folds until he felt her tense up against him and moan deeply. “Can you come again for me, Cassandra?” he asked, allowing his voice to grow louder, firmer this time.

“Mhmm…mmm…” She nodded.

Her breasts rose and fell quickly, her nipples no doubt as hard as they had ever been.

Solas allowed a small, controlled current of electricity to touch her inner thighs. Cassandra gasped, squirming, but he quite literally had her by the throat, his broad hand cupping the front her neck. Not to mention she was split open on his cock. Solas was assured of his full control just as the numb shock of her magical suppression rose against him, surprising him. The Veilfire in the hearth weakened and flickered, momentarily. Solas felt his own mana dim. For a moment his brows raised and his mind faltered. 

Cassandra was powerful.

“ _Ah..."_  Solas said. "No." He summoned the same calm authority she had seen him display so often, though he doubted she had ever imagined she would hear it in this context.

Truthfully, feeling the force of her power for the first time, having it aimed at him, was exciting Solas almost beyond his will to resist. The vacuum of a Seeker’s will brushing up against the power of the Fade, dimming his connection to it, even a little, fascinated the mage. He realized with some trepidation that his cock was buried inside a woman who could probably kill him. With his hand on her neck, he could feel the Seeker’s pulse beating against his thumb.

What must it feel like, he wondered, to _lose_?

Cassandra was legitimately dangerous to him, in a way that was entirely outside of his experience… If she wished to stop him, she could certainly have done it. For a moment, they were balanced on a knife’s edge. 

Navigating this particular impasse would be... _interesting_ , to say the least. 

Solas felt magical energy rising again in his fingertips. Cassandra had eased up a little. 

It was only natural for them to test each other, he supposed.  He gave her another concentrated jolt. Enough to snap against her skin. She moaned. Even so, she kept her grip on his mana. Solas smiled, invigorated. Reckless with novelty and the heady desire to please her. 

“ _Ah_. You like that?” he asked, a soft laugh leaking in. He could sense the blush spreading across her face without needing to see it. “Do you really wish to fight it, Cassandra?” Veins of violet energy flicked against her skin, threateningly close to her most sensitive places. 

Cassandra shook her head. Hmm. Perhaps she was struggling with the idea that she might like this. Might want this. 

“…Or do you wish to give in to me?” Solas asked, softly. 

Cassandra only made a small, desperate noise. Then she nodded. Solas tightened his grip on her neck, carefully. No resistance. He slid back half an inch, then pitched his hips forward powerfully and buried himself to the hilt. Cassandra panted and tensed incredibly. The Veilfire surged once more.

The returned flood of his own mana hit him like a head rush. She had given him free reign and he was not about to disappoint. She was so close now he could taste it in the air. 

“Ask for it,” he instructed. He waited. She was silent, breathing so hard, on the very edge.“Do you want it?” he coaxed softly, from behind her ear. “Do you wish me to bring you _release_?”

"Yes... _Please_... _Maker_...” Cassandra pleaded, softly. Interesting, he thought, that she would invoke the name of her Maker now.

There were a hundred ways Solas knew to stimulate a woman — to flick or prod or twist or violate her with magic until she came so hard, or so frequently, that she would pass out from the pleasure. A quick, practised interplay of heat and cold could spike the peak of one's pleasure to new heights. Admittedly, he had never seriously considered the idea of trying any of these techniques on a  _Seeker_ , but perhaps now... provided she could let herself endure it without needing to suppress his magic… He swallowed. Given how this had gone so far, did not seem like it would be much of an issue.

_“Please_ , Solas.”

A flood of novel sexual possibilities rushed through Solas’s mind, each more debauched than the last. 

He might never have another chance. 

" _Solas_...”

Cooling the fingertips of his left hand to the cold stab of ice, he rubbed her clit with rapid force as she recoiled from the sudden chill and overwhelming gasp that took her. Solas timed it so that he pressed the collar of his other hand in harder that moment, carefully denying her air even as he offered her the peak of pleasure. Her hips bucked and she bent and shuddered at the moment of release, but there was no rise of power from her. She let him have full control. Over his magic. Over her. His fingers did not stop caressing her, as he made the magic coursing through their freezing tips blossom back to heat once more, even as he let them buzz against the slippery point of her arousal with the smallest, gentlest thrum of electricity.

“ _Good girl_ ,” he said.  He meant it. 

She squirted helplessly all over his palm, and he made a soft, knowing sound in return. It seemed all of his hunches about the Seeker were correct. 

Her juices pooled below them on the expensive sheets as he gently finished the job, loosening his grip of her neck as he slowed the intensity of his strokes. The feeling was glorious, even for him. He could only imagine how it felt for _her_ to be finally mastered. 

Satisfied that he had done her darkest desires ample service, Solas slid his organ out of her and carefully helped her onto her back, taking a moment to appreciate the sight of having Cassandra Pentaghast's uncomprehendingly pleasured, entirely amazed face and trembling legs under him.  

Face to face now, he shushed her, scooping one hand behind her neck as he sheathed himself inside her soft, tight folds. She was spent, and could only hold him and let him have his way. Her face was so beautiful, it actually took him by surprise. The sharp rise of her cheekbones. The helpless softness of her eyes. He made love to her desperately, until he could hold back no more, which happened sooner than he would have liked, but he had nothing left in the way of self-control. He was pounding her like this was his last chance to ever give a woman his seed.   
  
Maybe it was. 

“Seeker— _ah._ ” Solas gave a sharp moan. 

The urge to finish inside her was surprisingly strong.  
  
He pulled out just in time and straddled her torso, on his knees as he finished himself with one hand. He lost himself in eternal relief for a moment, before looking down finally and seeing he had arced it all wildly onto the sheets, her breasts, her arms, the pillows. _Fenedhis_... what _hadn't_ he made a mess of?

Cassandra had one hand on his thigh, as though for moral support. 

He looked down at her. She was still breathing hard. She was also laughing into the back of one hand. 

“I... apologize, Seeker ," he said, earnestly. "Allow me to...” He grabbed a pillowcase to use as a cloth and did his best to return the Seeker to a more dignified state. 

"Thank you," she said. And then she started laughing again. 

“Something _still_ amusing?” Solas asked, breathlessly. 

“Really, Solas? Only you would call me  _Seeker._ Even _now_ ," she teased. 

“Force of habit, I suppose." Solas collapsed beside her in sweet exhaustion.

“Perhaps we should develop some new habits,” Cassandra suggested. She was still breathing hard. So was he. The sheen of sweat on their bodies reflected the Veilfire's watery light.

“We have certainly expanded our repertoire, tonight,” Solas said, moving automatically to stroke her short dark hair. It was very soft. 

“Solas?” Cassandra asked, after a while.

“Yes?”

“May I—stay here? Tonight?”

“Of course,” he said, too profoundly sleepy now to caution her otherwise. Besides, she was so warm.

Cassandra lay slightly on her side, and Solas curled himself against her back, wrapping his arms around her torso. She wriggled free, and to his surprise and delight, reversed their positions. 

“There,” she said, clearly preferring this. Solas smiled. It was a great comfort, to be held this way. He did not realize how much he had missed another being's tender company. 

Solas’s eyes snapped open at the feeling of Cassandra’s fingertips on his ear. 

She felt the shape of his ear lobe with her thumb and forefinger. The ears in general a were a sensitive part of the body, but Solas’s were _extremely_ susceptible to touch, a fact he did not typically need to share with anyone. He endured her sudden touch for a few long moments, tensed up and half-expecting her to squeeze too hard. However, the longer she remained there, the more her exploratory touches turned to soft, diligent stroking. She traced over his ear’s exotic shape so gently, as if she were handling delicate china… and Solas felt something very deep inside himself relax, and relax further, and finally give in to the soothing, tingling sensation of her gentle strokes.

He wished he could somehow express how exquisite this felt, so he could make it clear that he never wanted her to stop, but his tight jaw had already relaxed itself, falling slightly open. The side of his face sank deeper into the pillow. Sleep carried him deeply to the Fade with swiftness and surety.


	3. Wait

Solas opened his eyes in the pitch dark. For a moment, he had no idea where he was or what was happening. There was a creak of the floorboards. He looked over and saw Cassandra, standing near the bed, tying her robe. It was still so dark. Solas could barely make out her face. 

“You sleep very soundly, Solas,” the Seeker said, softly.“Are you always this difficult to wake up?”

“Not—always.” Solas stifled a groan. His head ached profoundly. Last night’s events came back to him like a forgotten dream. 

“Are you not hungover?” he asked her. 

“ _I_ only had one glass,” she reminded him. “How many times did you refill yours over the course of the night?”

“I must admit, I did not count.” Solas rolled onto his side. “What time is it?”

“Nearly six o’clock.”

“ _Fenedhis,”_ he swore, throwing an arm across his face. _“_ The sun has barely risen, Seeker.”

“You so rarely curse, Solas. ‘ _Fen-edhis’…_ ” Cassandra repeated. It was curious to hear Elvhen spoken in her coarse Nevarran accent. _“_ I have always wondered, what does that mean, Solas? _Fen-eed-his,”_ she said again. _“_ Am I saying that right? _Feneeeedhis_?”

“Stop, please,” Solas begged, deeply embarrassed. “It is not exactly… decent.”

“I did not think, after last night, you were overly concerned with decency, Solas.”

Solas sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Wolf’s privates.”

“Excuse me?”

“It means a wolf’s… penis.”

“Oh. I see.” 

“Are you satisfied?” he asked. 

Cassandra shot him a coy look, and he realized too late the trap he had set for himself.

“Very,” Cassandra admitted. She cleared her throat. “Clearly you have had more… _experiences_ in the Fade than you let on.”

Solas laughed.

Looking up at Cassandra just then, the softness in her eyes, the way the faint light hit her and highlighted the exquisite shape of her face, he found himself wanting to pull her back into bed with him. 

“Well,” said Cassandra, after a moment. “I was just—well, I had better go back. The last thing we need is _Varric_ seeing me sneaking out of your room before breakfast.”

“Yes. Of course.” Solas hesitated. What had to come next would not be easy. “Cassandra?” he asked, sitting up in bed. 

“Yes.”

“We—” _No, not_ we. Solas started again. "—It is probably best to avoid doing this, again. Last night was… impulsive, and ill-considered.”

He waited to see what she would say.

She stared at him for a moment. Subtlety was not one of her talents, and she wore her emotions plainly on her face; Solas could see instantly that she was hurt, though she caught herself mid-frown and tried to hide it. 

“Of course. Last night was—it was…We must consider our duty to the Inquisition, first and foremost,” Cassandra said, stiffly. “I hope that this will not change things between us, at Skyhold. I—respect you a great deal, Solas.”

He found himself disappointed with her answer. 

“And I you, Seeker.” He looked at her with remorse and tenderness. “I apologize if this was—if I…”

“You do not need to apologize, Solas. It was my choice, to come here. And that was… very enjoyable.”

“I am glad you thought so,” Solas said.

This was more difficult than Solas had imagined it would be. Even now, groggy and having just rejected her, he wanted her back. Last night had been glorious, but in the heat of his desire he had been aggressive, never letting her take the reigns. The fact was that he wanted her on top of him. Desperately. He wanted her to untie that cord from the waist of her robe and tie his wrists behind him. He thought of the force of her will stifling his magic, and he wanted her to fight him on this, not to _agree_ with him. If only she would make it so he _couldn’t_ deny her… then it would take away the guilt, the responsibility to do the right thing.

He wanted to let go. 

She couldn’t have known just how much he wanted it. 

He forced a smile.

“I will see you at breakfast, then, Seeker.”

“Yes.”

Cassandra rose and moved toward the door.

“Wait,” Solas interjected.

“What is it?”

The side of her robe had fallen open, and one of her breasts was exposed. He pointed, averting his eyes.

“Your… robe.” 

“Oh, I…” Cassandra quickly covered herself. “Thank you.”

Solas watched her, his mouth dry, as she turned and left.


	4. The Night Is Long

 

The Inquisition had not spent much time in the Hissing Wastes, but Solas learned one thing about them quickly: they were very large. Between setting up Inquisition camps, and dealing with the Venatori presence, the stretches of time spent merely walking could be incredibly dull. Solas had spent the last two hours staring at the back of the Seeker's head, two sides of him warring on the topic of whether it was better to talk to her or not talk to her. He was not sure which she would prefer.

The endless rolling ridges of moonlit sand that stretched out around Solas at least leant themselves to introspection. They were as good a place as any in Thedas for Solas to ponder the reason he was walking around with a constant headache and a persistent tightness in his jaw. He had been unable to get a full night's sleep for several weeks. Though he did not want to think about  _why_  that might be, he was starting to accept that thinking about it might be the only way for him to return to normal. 

Solas walked over the drifts of soft sand, watching the moonlight glint on the edge of the Seeker's shield as she walked ahead of him. He had allowed himself many indulgences at Halamshiral, but what he had let happen with Cassandra was unforgivably careless. He had hoped that, with time, the lingering taste of their night together would simply dissipate.

Before the night of the Ball at the Winter Palace, by his best estimation, he he had thought of Seeker Pentaghast only as a respected ally. No. A friend. Was that true? Solas clenched his jaw. His head ached. A respected ally or something like perhaps almost a friend, then. In truth, it had taken a great deal of time for Solas to even consider her as someone he could rely on. She had, after all, been the one person who had most vehemently accused him of involvement at the Conclave. The one person he had needed to convince the most of his innocence had also been the staunchest advocate for his guilt. 

And, she had been right. Though it would be some time before she might ever know it.  
  
When Solas had helped to save the Herald, and when he had led them to Skyhold, the Seeker had been one of the first to apologize to him. To  _thank_  him. He was ashamed now to think of how many times she had surprised him, over the months they had known one another, simply by being decent to him.

Admittedly, everyone he had met at Haven was puzzling in some way to Solas, but the Seeker had piqued his interest more than most. He had watched her, when he could, from a distance. At first he had only observed her out of necessity, studying her with the same curious scrutiny he applied to every strange manifestation on this side of the Veil. But perhaps, at some point he could not discern, his gaze had lingered.

And, with time, she had become  _real_  to him, slowly and surely. 

He knew the way she walked: long strides, automatically leading. The way she could heft her shield over her back with one hand, easily. The way she used the sun or stars to orient herself. The way she furrowed her brow when she grew thoughtful, though it looked at first like she was simply glaring at everything in disapproval.  


When they fought enemies of the Inquisition, Solas watched Cassandra come alive, vital and strong. She placed herself, without fear or hesitation, between the rest of them and any number of terrible ways to die. Utterly confident in her abilities, she was a force on the battlefield, to be sure. It was rare to see a woman so skilled at hand-to-hand combat.

Perhaps though, it was the amusing bit of second-hand knowledge via Cole that Cassandra could often be found curled up reading Varric's smuttiest works of fiction, that was the final piece that had made Solas realize, on some level, that he did not just respect Cassandra: he actually _liked_  her.   


Somehow, none of this had _consciously_  occurred to him until after the events at the Winter Palace. It was as if he had been in a dream that night, living out a half-realized fantasy that had brewed slowly, suppressed within him for months. Perhaps that night was the culmination of a latent longing Solas himself had not even dared to acknowledge, for fear of the consequences. 

And now, weeks after Halamshiral, he still laid awake at night for hours on end, fearing he had become an easy target for desire demons.

Neither Cassandra nor Solas was given to smalltalk, but now and then one of them felt compelled to make conversation. It also prevented Varric from monologuing, as he was prone to do. They had barely spoken, lately. Solas cleared his throat. The air here was so dry. He gazed around the vast expanse of moonlit desert as their small party crossed it on foot. 

"Well," Solas said drily, "it doesn't want for sand."

The Seeker did not turn around. In fact, Solas was not entirely sure if she had heard him. 

She sighed, after a few long moments. 

"No, it does not," she said, over her shoulder. 

Silence. The wind hissing between the rocks. 

Varric and Lavellan were much further ahead, chatting about something quietly. 

Solas could think of nothing more to say.

"What is it like when templars nullify magic, Solas?" Cassandra asked him, after a long time. Solas felt a little swell of relief. She was not giving him the silent treatment, after all. 

"It is as though you are drawing upon the world around us. Mages draw forth the essence of the Fade, and use that essence to shape reality."

"And our powers drive it back, making this world harder to affect?" she clarified.

"In a manner of speaking. You reinforce reality so it's less mutable. The Fade has nowhere to gain a foothold, and the magic disperses," he explained.

She made a little sound that was almost a laugh.

"No one has ever accused me of reinforcing reality before."

"You  _are_  a Seeker of Truth," he pointed out. 

Solas walked in her footsteps in the sand.  
  
After weeks of ignoring each other almost completely, even a simple conversation between just the two of them seemed like progress. Still, he could not tell if she was trying to hold him at arm's length only to protect herself, or if she really had moved on.  
  
If she had, that was best, he reminded himself. He did not deserve her. And she did not deserve pain.

After they made camp, Solas gladly went to the comfort and privacy of his tent. Through the thinning portions of the canvas above him, he could see through to the clear night sky above. He lay under the silence of the stars, knowing he would not sleep. He did not want to close his eyes. Not yet. Her face would be there, when he did. That beautiful idea of her would be there, at the edge of dreams, as it had for many nights now. He realized he had the impulse to  _paint_  her, even.

Try as he might to focus only on the cold points of starlight above, his mind envisioned instead the Seeker's silhouette, backlit against the canvas of the tent. Would she ever think of coming to him in the night again, as she had at Halamshiral? 

Of course not. He had _ended_  it, the morning after it had begun. She had agreed. She had  _seemed_  to agree, anyway. They both knew it was ridiculous to pursue it. What would ever come of being together, except inevitable disappointment?

Still, thinking of that night was a surefire reminder of just how real this body of his was. Solas resented that he was trapped within flesh that could be so fickle, so chained to fleeting mortal desire. Of course, he had tried on many nights to touch himself, thinking perhaps that would be enough to sate the burn of physical desire, but he always failed to bring himself all the way to release. Whenever he tried, the guilt of wanting this, of wanting  _her_ , despite all that he was, would eat away at him.  
  
A voice in his head called him many things.  
  
 _Undeserving._  
  
 _Monster._  
  
 _Traitor._  
  
He always had to stop himself. Not even the release of peaceful sleep was within grasp... the Fade seemed further and further away, harder and harder to flee to. Tonight was no different, it seemed. Solas adjusted his bedclothes, and reached for his rucksack. Feeling around inside, Solas fished for the small hard shape that always sank to the bottom of the bag. His fingers closed around the small gemstone, and he took it out and closed it in his fist, letting memory do the rest.  
  
Early in their journeys together, the Inquisition had visited the caves under the lake at Crestwood. As they had explored the cave, Solas heard the Seeker laugh, pointing out a group of nugs nearby. The diminutive pink creatures splashed about in the pools of lake water at their feet, warbling to one another. It was unlikely they had ever encountered humans before.

"I wonder what they make of the giants passing their home," Solas had said. Varric had been indifferent, more intent on sharing his favourite nug recipes than considering the creatures' perspective, but the Seeker had grinned at Solas, as curious and amused as he was by the little scampering animals. One had followed them for a time, and Cassandra had laughed, delighted, as it ran behind her. Whenever she would stop walking, the nug would stop too, staring up at her with inquisitive dark eyes, whiskers twitching.   
  
"It looks as though you have an admirer," Solas had said. A foolish thing to say, and yet he caught himself smiling at nothing at all a few minutes later.  
  
Around the corner from the nugs, they had come across a large vein of amethyst, running through another part of the ancient cave system. It was not surprising, as the place was an ancient Dwarven ruin, in a location likely chosen for its rich mining potential. Solas had taken a loosened, broken cluster of the twinkling violet quartz with him. Nearly all of Solas's possessions were entirely practical, and he did not, as a rule, collect souvenirs from his journeys in Thedas, but the small piece of raw amethyst served as a reminder of the way he had felt that day. Almost like he could belong here, with these people. 

Solas felt the hard, jutting edges of the crystalline rock in his hand, and thought of the way Cassandra had smiled. 

As he finally slipped into a shallow, fitful sleep, it was not Desire, but Wisdom, who called to him.

 


	5. Wisdom and Memory

Cassandra’s thoughts rotated incessantly around that night at the Winter Palace. Unsure of how else to proceed, she felt she must analyze every moment, to make sure she had not somehow misinterpreted Solas's intent. Surely they had done what they had to do, in ending it then and there. Surely she and Solas were both capable of moving on, of putting it out of their minds.

It was worse when they were at Skyhold, she found. At least, when they journeyed together, there was a shared objective, a mission that they could distract themselves with. At the castle, she never knew where Solas was going to turn up. Whenever he inevitably did, Cassandra froze, mid-step, like a spooked deer.   
  
Solas seemed to be everywhere. The battlements. The library. The training yard. He was always coming or going, forcing Cassandra to find new excuses to take the long way everywhere. In her bid to avoid him at all costs she had already had two extended conversations with with Harrit about sword pommels, and let a librarian whose name she had not even learned espouse his knowledge of an obscure period of Chantry history for nearly an hour one afternoon while she waited for Solas to leave, so that she would not have to walk past him. She was terrified of facing him alone. Terrified, and yet it was what she found herself imagining again and again. That was the terrifying part.

In her efforts to avoid his company, she found herself memorizing where and when Solas was most likely to appear. She learned he kept a rapport with many of the staff and servants at Skyhold. He often took the time to assist Dorian with research in the library. He trained newly recruited mages on how properly deal with rifts, how to control the strange magic of the Fade, if they were interested. He visited Cole often.

Things would never work between them. She knew this. So why then, whenever she saw him, did she see the images of that night flashing in her mind’s eye? Her gaze lingered on the elf's chest and shoulders; underneath those robes she knew his skin was ivory-pale and so soft; that he was well-muscled, but in the subtlest sense of the word... and there was nothing subtle about that sharp jawline of his, or that plush lower lip, or the hooded almond eyes that had stared at her with fearless lust while she came apart.  
  
The mage's hands could be occupied with any task, or clasped in repose, and Cassandra would steal one glance at them and feel those careful hands on her,  _inside_  her, taste the electric glow of his magic… hear his low voice in her ear, reducing her to putty, making her feel like—No.  _No_. Cassandra did not want any of that.

Today Cassandra spotted Solas out on the battlements, speaking with Lavellan.   
  
The Dalish elf wore her long auburn hair swept back in a high ponytail. In her own youth, Cassandra had worn her hair long, and in much the same fashion. Off of her face, for practicality. Eventually she had realized it was nothing but her own vanity keeping her from simply cutting it short and being done with it.

From the soldiers’ training yard, Cassandra watched the pair of elves speaking, from behind. Solas stood tall and straight, the lithe strength of his form duly enhanced by the comparatively dainty figure beside him. Cassandra could not help but admit that they looked good together. A natural fit. Ellana was beautiful, in that soft, ethereal way that elves could be. Solas would have to be blind not to notice it.

Other women’s beauty was not normally something Cassandra coveted. But, when she saw Solas laugh and place his hand on Ellana’s for a moment, she could not help but feel a little jealous. Were they discussing the Mark? Surely that was not something to laugh about. It seemed now that when Solas spoke with Cassandraof Inquisition matters, he treated her only with an abrupt and business-like terseness. He did not look nearly so at ease. He did not  _laugh_.

Cassandra looked away from the Inquisitor and Solas as she made her way across the yard, frowning. Why did she care what made the apostate laugh? Was she losing her mind? Was she stalking him, or avoiding him? What was she thinking to accomplish?  
  
She almost wished that they could speak again, in private, if only so he could assure her that the night they shared had meant little, and that everything was as it had been between them before: simple.

 

*

 

Dirthavaren was a ruined place now, a battlefield littered with ransacked forts, many still burning from the fires of war. Empress Celene’s troops were hunkered in at the Citadelle du Corbeau, where their party had stopped to rest for the afternoon, before making their way to the area Solas knew Wisdom was being held against its will.

What these mages wanted with an ancient spirit of Wisdom, Solas could only guess. The worst case scenario, he supposed, was that they had decided to question it—to force it to share information that would compromise his mission.

Even if this had nothing to do with the wisdom of the ancient elves, Solas would have come. He had few friends left in this divided world.

They had stopped near the river to refill their flasks, when Dorian turned to him. 

“Solas, I know you hate my people, and frankly I don’t blame you, but this is going to be an awfully long walk to your, uh, _friend,_ if done in absolute silence. Lavellan is busy trying to impress that Dalish clan. Blackwall is about as interesting as that mossy boulder. I need entertainment. Banter. Visible annoyance. _Something_. Don’t disappoint me, Solas, _please_.”

“What did you wish to talk about?” Solas asked the Tevinter mage.

“Anything, really. Ooh, I know! _Gossip_. Gossip is always good. What better way to keep us away from each other’s throats than to complain about _other_ people? Hmm… What do you think of our Commander Cullen?” 

In all but his looks, Cullen struck Solas as a painfully average man. He was not without leadership ability or sound judgement, but he was untested in terms of a large scale military effort, and unaccustomed to controlling forces of the Inquisition’s size. He was only a middling strategist, by Solas’s estimation. The Templar’s real weakness lay in the fact that he was too averse to risk, or perhaps simply too soft, to make the difficult sacrifices that were sometimes necessary for victory. If their roles in the Inquisition had been delegated according to years of experience, then _Solas_ should have been the one commanding the troops. Hardly a possibility, given the circumstances.

Still, Cullen was better than _no_ Commander, Solas supposed.

“Not much,” Solas admitted.

Dorian chuckled.

“Oh, salty. Fine, fine. I ask because I heard a rumour that Cullen has stopped taking lyrium.”

“Is that so?” Solas asked, actually curious. “Would that not compromise his abilities, as a Templar?”

“One would assume. Though, apparently, it’s not entirely necessary. I heard all this from the Seeker, though, so I don’t know all the details… only that it is apparently possible.”

“Ca—the Seeker told you that?”

“Yes. She’s been supervising Cullen, whatever that means, while he tries to get off of the stuff. Seekers don’t need it, after all, and they’re basically Templars, aren’t they?” Dorian laughed. “I admit, I’m a little jealous. Wouldn’t you be?”

Solas stared at him, baffled for a moment.

“Why would _I_ be jealous?” Solas asked, cautiously.

“We’re all a little jealous of Cassandra. Any excuse to cozy up with the dreamy, brooding Commander is a good one. No?” Dorian sighed and shot Solas a somewhat deflated look. “And _that’s_ how I know you’re straight.”

“Very observant of you,” Solas deadpanned.

Solas weighed what Dorian had said against what he knew of the Seeker. His first thought was that it seemed frivolous and out of character for her to pursue Cullen. But then again, why would Cassandra bother to go out of her way to recruit and appoint this unremarkable Templar as the military commander of the Inquisition, if not because she felt some sort of physical attraction to the man? Had he been entirely blind to her interest in Cullen? Certainly everyone else around Skyhold seemed to go on and on about how attractive the Commander was.

How could Solas have overlooked this?

 

*

 

If he had been in a foul mood before Dorian brought up the idea of there being something between Cullen and Cassandra, Solas was in a truly awful temper by the time they arrived, too late, at the place in the plains where mages had his friend bound in a summoning Circle. Forced here against its will, pushed into acting against its nature, Wisdom’s manifestation in the physical realm was that of a monstrous Pride Demon.

Though they eventually succeeded in freeing it from the Circle, Solas knew it was too late. This spark of Wisdom was beyond reviving. Solas knelt in the grass beside its corporeal spirit form, feeling the lump in his throat grow.

Wisdom had only a plaintive request for him to guide it into Death, as was his duty. 

Sometimes, the end was the only mercy left. 

Solas raised his hands as he cast the gentle spell, and watched as what had been the essence of eons of invaluable Wisdom disintegrated, like ash on the wind.

“I’m sorry, Solas.” 

He turned and rose to his feet at the sound of Lavellan’s voice. Dorian and Blackwall stood a ways behind her, genuine sadness etched on their faces.

“Don’t be,” Solas replied. “We gave it a moment’s peace before the end. That’s more than it might have had.” He caught the eye of one of the human mages, who gathered nearby, staring stupidly at him. “All that remains now is _them_.”

“Thank you,” one of the mages stammered. “We would not have risked the summoning, but the roads are too dangerous to travel unprotected.”

Solas stalked toward the ignorant waste of air who had spoken up.

“You—tortured and killed my friend.”

“We didn’t know!” the mage cried, backing away as Solas closed the space between them. “It was just a spirit. The book said it could help us!”

Solas raised his staff, feeling nothing but blind rage.

 _Damn them all._  

Lavellan took a step toward him.

“Solas…” she said, not a moment too soon.

Solas gritted his teeth. Her voice was the only thing keeping him from turning these ‘mages’ into yet another anonymous pile of smouldering ash in the burning plains. And what would it matter, what became of these quicklings? What did their lives mean to him, in the great span of the ages of this world? Solas stared a moment longer into the wide, frightened eyes of the coward in front of him, watching the pathetic tremble of his lips.

How _easy_ it would have been.

For Lavellan’s sake, he turned away.

“I need some time alone,” Solas said, already walking away from the others, heading for the quiet wooded area nearby. “I will see you back at Skyhold.”


	6. Confessions

Inquisitor Lavellan was away, in the Exalted Plains, along with Solas, Dorian, and Warden Blackwall. In her absence, many of the duties of command at Skyhold fell to Josephine, Leliana, Cullen, and Cassandra. When Cullen pulled her aside to meet in his office, Cassandra expected she was about to listen to a long list of complaints regarding the recruits' training regime, or the sorry state of the armoury, but when she saw the ashen look on his face, Cassandra suspected this meeting with Cullen must instead be about his ongoing decision to stop taking lyrium.

The Commander had charged her with watching him, making sure he was fit for duty, while he went through the difficult symptoms of lyrium withdrawal. So far, Cassandra knew it had not been easy for him, but he had dealt with the process admirably. She was sure he would recover, with time, but his grave demeanour today worried her. 

The last thing Cassandra was expecting was for him to confess to her, like a guilty schoolboy, that he and the Inquisitor had been sleeping together for some time.

Cassandra's first reaction was a sense of relief. This was not about lyrium, after all. Cullen had become her close ally and friend in these past months, and she did not want to see him taken down by his decision to cease taking lyrium. He was a good man who had been through altogether too much evil. As far as Cassandra could tell, the Commander had always been popular with women, through no effort of his own. He was handsome, gallant... Cassandra could certainly understand the appeal, but she had always considered Cullen first and foremost as her friend and confidante. He had certainly never given her reason to think of him otherwise.

“I—I hope you don’t think less of me for what Ellana and I are… are... well, it's something we're both serious about making work," the Commander said.

“Of course not, Cullen. You have been responsible about the situation. It does not affect your work. Nor does it affect our friendship.”

“Thank you for understanding,” Cullen said, running his hands through his hair, nervously. “I admit, I wasn’t sure if you would. You take your position seriously, Cassandra, as you should. I thought that the idea of…  _sleeping around_  within the Inquisition might not be something you’d entirely approve of.”

Cassandra laughed, blushing.

“You’d be surprised, Cullen,” the Seeker said. Truth be told, Cassandra was relieved for more than just Cullen's sake. Her concerns about Lavellan and Solas spending time together seemed even more ridiculous upon hearing of this development.

“Would I? I mean—you? You’re with someone?” Cullen looked happily surprised. And like he wanted to hear more.  

Cassandra backtracked, quickly.

“No, no. I am not with anyone now.”

“Oh. But—you…  _were_? Who, Cassandra?" Cullen's eyes widened. "Please do not say Varric. The rumours alone—”

“What  _rumours!_ ”

"Oh. Maker,  _not Iron Bull_.” Cullen's brow furrowed. "That isn’t—sanitary. Everyone tells me he's been trying to get in bed with anything that moves. If he's been bothering you, Cassandra—”

“ _Ugh_!” Cassandra interjected. “It was Solas,” she said plainly.

The Commander's eyes glazed over and for a brief moment he looked as though he was solving a difficult bit of arithmetic. 

“ _Solas_?” Cullen repeated incredulously. “Andraste help us all, Cassandra. How did  _that_ ever happen?”

“I—I cannot explain it. It was… only once.” Cassandra averted her eyes and examined the Commander's bookshelf with sudden interest. “He was… surprisingly charming, Cullen.”

“So it would seem,” Cullen said, a little snark edging into his voice. 

“You remember the Ball at the Winter Palace?” Cassandra asked, feeling she owed Cullen some sort of explanation.

“I wish I could forget. Wait. You mean… you and he…  _there_? At the  _guest chateau_? Oh, For pity’s sake, Cassandra, I was in the very next room. I’m surprised I didn’t hear anything!”

“We—weren’t in my room. We were in Solas’s room.”

Cullen raised a single scandalized eyebrow.

“In  _his_  room? So... you—propositioned him? And after he had been drinking. Cassandra, you minx.”

“He—wasn’t—”

“Don’t try to tell me he wasn’t drunk, Cassandra. I remember how he was. He tried to give me a veritable monologue about ‘courtly intrigue’ and the Fade. Then he wouldn’t leave me be until I had I tried all these different little… frilly cakes. And he wasn’t the only one. Dorian. And Bull. And  _Sera_ … It’s a wonder anyone lived through the night, with the amount of alcohol the Inquisition consumed.”

“I thought he kept his composure rather well.”

“I suppose you’d know, wouldn’t you? Maker. Solas.” Cullen shook his head. “I mean, how was it—was he…?”

“Surely you do not want the details.”

“Perhaps not.”

“We— _enjoyed_  ourselves, and that was that," Cassandra summarized. "We are both adults, Cullen. It was only once.”

“So there’s…” Cullen looked at her with the discerning glance of a protective brother. “…Nothing between you now?”

Cassandra sighed, more wistfully than she had intended to.

“No. There is not. I think it is for the best.”

She was not sure who she was assuring of this: herself or Cullen.

"I see," Cullen said, not sounding entirely convinced. "Well, let me know if you want him locked in the dungeon. I've been looking for an excuse, since he mopped the floor with me at Wicked Grace. And chess! Dorian and I both vowed we're never playing with him again. He ruins everything."

 *

Solas had been gone for a few weeks now, and the letters, summons, books and art supplies he had ordered were beginning to pile up on his desk in the rotunda. One night, after a long and boring chat with Cullen about whether they should be training more troops on horseback, Cassandra wandered to Solas’s empty office. She looked up at the paintings that covered roughly half the walls. There had been a few more colourful frescoes added since she had last taken a peek at Solas’s progress. The elf certainly didn’t get many visitors, so almost nobody knew that it was Solas who was painting these.  
  
Damn him, though. The style was foreign to her, but these frescoes were actually very good.

“Eagerly awaiting my return?” a familiar voice asked, making Cassandra jump.

Evidently, Solas had just entered through the side door. Cassandra inwardly cursed his timing.

The mage took the old pack from his back and placed it on his sofa, easing its weight from his shoulders stiffly. He crossed the floor, passing Cassandra briskly, and sat down at his desk in silence. He looked exhausted, more worn than he had even after they had fled the fighting at Haven, and he had looked rough then. They all had. This time, Cassandra saw there were swollen shadows under Solas’s eyes.

She wondered if he had been crying.

“Ah—I didn’t see you, Solas. Actually, I was not sure if I was _ever_ going to see you. No one knew where you went off to…” She watched the elf sort through some of the papers that had been left for him. “Solas, I heard about your friend. I am sorry about what happened. And I am sorry that I was not there to help.”  
  
Solas didn’t look up. Cassandra tried again.

“Solas, may I ask—where did you go?”

“I went to the place in the Fade where my friend used to be. It was… empty.” Even his voice sounded different—shattered, somehow. He would not meet her gaze.

“Solas. Are you all right?” Cassandra asked, gently.

“Yes, of course,” Solas snapped. “Perhaps you should go, Seeker. Or are you not finished questioning me?”

“ _Questioning_ you? I was worried about you,” she admitted, frowning.

“Oh? Worried?” he asked, still on the defensive. Could he _really_ not see that she was trying to be kind to him?

“I was beginning to wonder if you would not return, to Skyhold. You should have told us where you were.”

“Oh, I _see_. Am I not allowed to have my own life, Seeker? My own affairs, outside of the Inquisition?" he asked, a little too sharply for her liking. 

“I—that is _not_ what I meant,” she insisted, determined to keep her cool. “But surely you can share some of these things, these  _affairs_  with—with the Inquisition.”

“And let slip where I might hide when this is over so your templars can hunt down the apostate elf? No.” His face looked hard and bitter, then. It made something drop, in the pit of Cassandra's stomach.“I doubt even  _you_ share all of your affairs openly, Seeker.”

“Do you really trust us so little?” she asked, incredulous.

“Can you honestly tell me that is not what would happen?” he countered. “What about when I am no longer of use to you? Once Corypheus is defeated, what am I then? You cannot deny that I am an apostate, Cassandra. That will not change, in the minds of those who have power here.”

“I would _protect_ you, Solas,” she said. She meant it.

“How?” he demanded, as though he thought the idea utterly absurd.

Cassandra folded her arms over her chest and fixed the mage with a hard look.  
  
“However I had to.”

“I find that hard to believe, Seeker. In fact, I find it far more likely that you and Commander Cullen would simply treat me with the same ignorance and cruelty your people seem to reserve for anything that is… _different_.”

Solas busied himself with his papers, but he was not able to hide the intensity in his voice. She had never seen him like this.

“I understand that you have just lost a friend, but where is this coming from, Solas? And what does _Cullen_ have to do with any of this?” she demanded.

“You would know better than I would, Seeker. I can only guess what plans the two of you make when _I_ am not present.”

Perhaps it was only that Solas was clearly exhausted and grief-stricken to the point of impatience, but something in his tone sounded particularly acidic when he talked about Cullen. Had the Commander offended him in some way?

“I did not come here to interrogate you, Solas—”

“Good. I will see you tomorrow then, Seeker.”

Cassandra felt a tide of anger rising in her. How could a man who was clearly so intelligent also be so incomprehensibly dense? She was only trying to comfort him, and he was acting as though her very presence was somehow offensive to him. Were he not so clearly out of sorts about his friend, she would have lacked the sympathy to keep this conversation from exploding into full blown accusations. 

“Very well,” Cassandra forced herself to say. “I will speak with you later.”

She stalked out of the room, her pulse racing with unexpressed frustration. Solas was impossible. She was going to need to hit something, hard, if she was going to get any sleep tonight. 

*

Solas clenched his jaw, staring determinedly downward at the piles of unopened mail in front of him. It seemed several of his contacts at Skyhold would need lessons in what was appropriate to leave lying in plain sight on someone's desk, especially when that desk was a stone's throw away from Leliana. 

Grabbing his letter opener, he eviscerated the nearest envelope and yanked its contents free. The letter was a report, from an Inquisition scout he employed. Unfolding the pages, he scanned the handwritten message quickly, before moving on to the next. It was from the Inquisitor. It was dated a week ago.

_Solas, when you get this, come and speak with me immediately. It's important. Just knock on my door._

_\- Lavellan_

Solas put the message down and sighed. It was getting late. Still, he supposed Lavellan would want to know that he had returned safely. She had a reputation for often staying up until midnight, or later, writing at her desk. Solas considered this. She said it was important. Perhaps she had discovered something more about the whereabouts of the orb? Solas allowed himself to hope, a little, before crossing the hall and taking the stairs up to the Inquisitor's quarters. Whatever it was Lavellan wanted, it was bound to be a welcome distraction from his strained exchange with the Seeker. He was half an inch away from rapping loudly on the door when he heard a barely muffled moan from the other side of the wooden door and hesitated.

Solas lowered his fist and listened as a man's groan followed, then the vigorous creaking of the mattress.

" _Yes_.."

It was only a word, on the other side of a door, but it sounded distinctly like Commander Cullen's voice. Solas glanced backward surreptitiously and leaned his ear against the door, feeling more ashamed with every passing moment that he stood there listening, but he had to be sure. 

The bed was creaking faster now, and Ellana moaned once more. 

"Oh Cullen...  _Cullen_..."

Solas pulled his head back from the door abruptly, ears burning.

He felt very much like a fool as he slunk back down the stairs to the main hall. Was this a new development, since he had left, or had it been going on for some time, right under all of their noses? Solas was absolutely certain the well-meaning, much put-upon Commander lacked both the skill and the motivation to seduce _both_ the Seeker and the Inquisitor.  
  
He had been utterly wrong about Cassandra and Cullen, it seemed. He was disappointed in himself. How had he let this get so out of hand? What had happened with the Seeker was supposed be long over, now. It was not supposed to be plaguing him, turning him into some kind of obsessive ex-lover, extrapolating fictional encounters from innocent gestures, wondering if the Seeker still wanted him. Ashamed at how much he still wanted her. 

And then treating her so unfairly. 

Solas was so, _so_ tired, he just wanted to sleep. It had been so many weeks of this. First it was the incessant thoughts about the Seeker. Then it was the added pain of losing Wisdom to those ignorant shem mages. Of searching for Wisdom, in the Fade, and seeing the destruction of the Vir Dirthara firsthand. Still, he knew he would not sleep a wink unless he tried to talk to Cassandra first. 

*

The Seeker was bashing in the head of an already much-abused training dummy with her shield when she saw Solas walking toward her across the grass. She glared at his approaching silhouette. Apparently, the mage had a death wish tonight. 

“What is it that you want, Solas?” she asked, glowering at the training dummy as she pummelled it. 

“Only a moment of your time, Seeker.”

“What is this about? Can it wait until tomorrow?”

“I… wish to apologize.”

She let the shield drop and wiped at her brow.

He stared at her, as if collecting his thoughts, before continuing.

“My behaviour earlier tonight was inconsiderate. You were only trying to comfort me, and I was inconceivably rude in return. I came to thank you, for your concern. It was, actually, much appreciated.”

Cassandra didn’t know what to say. She set down her shield and sighed.

“After the explosion at the Conclave, I was angry too,” Cassandra admitted. “I wanted revenge. I wanted justice, for what was done. I understand what it is like to lose someone you care about. Sometimes all you want is to lash out. All you want is to be able to _blame_ someone, because it _feels_ like that will make it easier.”

Solas nodded solemnly.

“Are you _really_ all right?” she asked.

“It hurts,” he said, finally. There was a deep resignation in his voice that stirred her heart. “It always does.”

“Solas,” she began kindly. “I know you care a great deal for spirits, but you should remember that you also have friends among the Inquisition. You do not need to mourn alone, if you do not want to.”

“Thank you, Cassandra. I will try to remember that.”

Solas shifted his weight, looking for a moment like he intended to speak, but thought better of it. Even in the dull moonlight she could see that he looked deathly tired.

“All is forgiven. You should get some rest, Solas. You must be tired from your journey.”

“I am.”

He made no attempt to leave, however. His feet remained firmly planted, and he just kept looking at her with this odd, searching expression. It was as though he simply did not know how to ask her if he could stay.

“Solas.”

He blinked.

“Yes?”

“Do you want to go for a walk?”

“Where to, Seeker?”

“Along the battlements, perhaps. I often find that walking before bed is a good way to calm my thoughts.” She collected her shield from where it rested at the base of the dummy.

“Ah, well. I suppose there is no harm in a walk between friends,” he said, giving her a sidelong glance as they strode, side by side, to the foundry so that Cassandra could put away her blade and shield.

“I see what you did there, mage,” Cassandra said. Solas laughed, for the first time in a long while.

“I am glad that you returned,” Cassandra said, as they crossed the grass to the stairs. “Perhaps you can continue working on that fresco you’ve started,” she said, trying to keep things light. She had never seen a man who looked in greater need of distraction. “Are you planning to do the whole room like that?”

“Yes, little by little,” Solas replied. “It is an ancient Elven style of fresco. I studied it for quite some time, in my journeys in the Fade.”

Cassandra shook her head, in disbelief.

“What is it?” Solas asked. “Do the Seekers not approve of art from the Fade?”

“No. It is just… You are a talented mage, yet untrained by the Circle. And what is more, you are… accustomed to battle, I take it? That alone would be enough to make you an asset to the Inquisition, but you are also a scholar, _and_ a historian.” They crested the stairs and made their way along the battlements, looking out over the twilit view of the valley below. Cassandra had to get this off of her chest. It had been bothering her for some time now. “You understand the Fade, of all things, and how to control the rifts. All that, and you are _also_ a gifted artist? How? How could one man have time to learn so much? You cannot be very much older than I am, Solas. It does not seem entirely fair.”

“And what is unfair about that?” Solas asked, smiling.

“Honestly? It makes me feel… inadequate,” she admitted. “How can one man be so many things?”

“One man may be many more things than that,” Solas said softly.

“I suppose so,” Cassandra conceded. 

“You do not give yourself due credit, Cassandra. Though you could, you do not choose to use your beauty as a tool to further your own power. Instead you focus your life’s work on serving others. You can match the best of men in physical strength. You are as confident in battle as any great soldier I have known, and shrewder than most. I am told you took on a dragon, in your youth, no less, and saved the Divine’s life, protecting your people. The people here speak of you as a legend, and they would raise you up as a hero, or more, if you did not shun such attentions.” Cassandra felt her cheeks burning at hearing such high praise from Solas. “Beyond your achievements, you have the rare power of a Seeker. Your ability to suppress magic is… impressive. You have—”

“That is _quite_ enough, Solas,” she warned. Cassandra looked out at the valley, as the wind whistled around the buildings, rippling the Inquisition banners.

“Do not affect false modesty, Cassandra,” Solas said. “You are surprising, whether you realize it or not.”

She turned and looked at him. They had slowed down to a stroll, taking in the expansive view of the cool, windswept valley before them.

“Solas.” Cassandra caught herself automatically reaching out, to place a hand on his shoulder, and stopped her outstretched fingers, instead resting one hand on the stone wall nearby. She felt trapped by the depth of his gaze. _Damn those eyes of his_ , she thought. She could never tell if it was longing she saw in them, or if that was only what she  _wanted_  to see. “If you ever want to talk, about your friend or—about anything, I would be happy to listen.” She thought for a moment. “That reminds me, if you get a chance, you should speak with Lavellan tonight. I know she wanted to see you.”

Solas sighed, softly.

“Actually, Seeker, I already tried to speak with her… however, it would seem that the Inquisitor is otherwise occupied this evening.”

“Occupied with what?”

“Commander Cullen.”

“You mean…?”  
  
The look on his face gave her the answer.

So, now _he_ knew too.

“Ah,” said Cassandra, knowingly. “I see. That doesn’t bother you, Solas?”

“You mean… an elf? With a human?” He shook his head, looking a little disappointed that she had to ask. “No, it does not bother me, Seeker. I see there are a great many things I understood very little of, when I first arrived. And a great many people I may have… misjudged.” He thought for a moment before going on. “We spend so much of our time fighting. You can hardly fault them for wanting to find some small comfort in each other’s company.”

His lips held onto a faint smile, but whatever it was his eyes searched for was far away.  
  
Cassandra wished he would turn and look at her again. The mere attention of his gaze was enough to make Cassandra's heart pound, these days. She felt a little rumour of hope stir within her. Seeing even a glimpse of his raw grief made her ache. There was little she would not have done to soften his burden.

“Solas,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “I have always tried to do what I think is right.”

“I know, Seeker.”

She took a deep breath.

“I cannot stop thinking about it. About the Winter Palace. I don't wish to—have to  _evade_  you. And I do not want to pretend that everything is the same between us. I know that what happened that night was... impulsive, as you said. I cannot judge what others might deem improper, and I respect your sense of decorum, Solas, but I have to be honest…”  
  
It was all rushing forth, whether she wanted it to or not.

“Of course, Seeker…” he said, still unreadable in his politeness.

“Solas, I know it is not right of me to say this... so, forgive me for saying it, but I find myself thinking that sometimes… Sometimes it seems as though you are the only one who understands…” Cassandra hesitated. What was she trying to say? That he was the only one who understood _her_? She could not mean that. He understood _nothing_ of what it was to be her, to be a Seeker, and yet he seemed for some unfathomable reason to understand the burdens she shouldered. He seemed to know the shape of her darkest desires. The things she needed to hear. Oh, Maker, how could she say this? “…As though you know what it is like, to be—alone.” 

Cassandra was deathly afraid that he would only reject her again, and yet there was a perverse relief in simply telling him the truth. She despised  _games_. He might as well know how she felt. She thought of how close they had been, that night after the Ball. How real and how wonderful he had been, in her arms. How much she wanted that again. How much she had dreamed of it, in all its impossible beauty.

“We _shouldn’t_ …” Solas breathed, in pure desperation, even as they found themselves a hair’s breadth from one another.

Still, he closed his eyes as she twined her fingers in his and pressed a tender kiss into his his jaw, and another into the warmth of his neck. When she moved to his ear, Solas’s lips parted, eyes fluttering shut as his breath stopped. His hand tightened around hers, suddenly vice-like.

“Perhaps, if I could have some time to think," Solas rasped. "There are—” Cassandra prodded his delicate earlobe with her tongue and his soft voice constricted. “— _considerations_ …”

She pulled away gently, searching the depths of his eyes when he at last blinked them open. She found such sadness, such conflicted tenderness, in his gaze that she felt her heart break a little, even without understanding why.

“Solas,” Cassandra said softly. She was drowning under a  _thick_  torrent of desire, now. “Patience is not one of my strong points.”

The span of one breath could have been an age, as Cassandra waited for—

All at once he had his mouth pressed into hers, desperately. His arms were around her in earnest. One hand on the back of her neck. His kisses were deep, his tongue probing. His hands firm. Cassandra lost herself to the sudden candied bliss of it. As it had at the Winter Palace, chemistry overthrew caution with abandon. No longer content to be simply standing, he forced her up against the stone wall roughly.

“This will not do,” Solas whispered, even as he kissed her throat. “Not here. Come with me, Cassandra. I know a place.”

Solas looked so tired still, she thought he might have benefited from being carried wherever it was he intended them to go, but she thought it best to leave his masculine pride intact, at least for now.


	7. Tranquility

There was an unrestored room, on the south side of Skyhold’s battlements, which was a short walk from Commander Cullen’s office. It was an abandoned officer’s quarters. At least, ostensibly it was. In truth, one of Solas’ own agents used the place. However, as this agent was currently detained elsewhere, Solas knew they would find it empty. 

It was not the most ideal location for romance, but it did afford them at least some privacy from the prying eyes around Skyhold.   


"What are you doing, Solas?" Cassandra whispered, as he strode along the perimeter of the room.

"A simple barrier," Solas explained. "To keep the noise from slipping out."

Cassandra's eyes narrowed. 

"Do you really think that... _volume_ will be that much of a concern?" she asked.

"After last time, Seeker?" He glanced at Cassandra, who looked suddenly sheepish. "Yes, I am positive."

He twined a magic through the air, working quickly.

Nothing turned Solas on quite as fast as a woman being sexually forward with him. Cassandra, bless her, could not have known just how taut his desire had been stretched for her over these past weeks. As soon as she had been there, so close to him, his resolve had broken like a brittle strap.

Though he would never tell a soul, at the moment Cassandra's teeth and tongue had begun to toy with his ear, Solas had spontaneously spilled into his smallclothes. Like an over-eager teen, finishing before even starting... Solas had  _never_  done that. Not even as a boy.

Solas had been quick to take care of the stain, destroying the shameful patch of evidence with a subtle spell even as he felt himself flush with embarrassment. _Considerations, indeed._ Thankfully, she would never have to know. 

As he finished the barrier, Cassandra came up behind him and planted a kiss on back of his neck, wrapping her arms around his waist. Solas leaned back into her embrace. He felt self conscious _still_ , as he had outside with her — so aware of his own small, soft sounds, and the supple way he could do nothing but let her have her way with him.  
  
Solas was glad to be gently pushed back onto the small bed by a firm pair of hands. Cassandra kissed his neck eagerly as her hands rubbed down his firm waist and thighs, and eventually she settled beside him on the bed. Solas turned his head to kiss the Seeker's sweet mouth, carefully, softly, trying to crush the pain away with more of her. 

He tried to focus on the warmth of her mouth, moving with his, the curving comfort of her body against him, promising... _Sorrow_. Not just for Wisdom, but for all that had been lost, when the Veil was created. Wisdom had been a reminder. This world, hers, severed from the Fade, so full of strife and suffering, devoid of magic and truth, was what he had wrought. His mistake. Solas pulled back from the tender kiss and traced his thumb gently over the long scar that ran along Cassandra's jaw and cheek.

"Can you perhaps just..." He almost finished the sentence, but pride stopped the words dead in his throat.  
  
_...hold me?_

_Hold me while I sleep again, for another thousand years?_

_Forever this time?_

"Are you sure you are all right, Solas?" Cassandra asked.

His head and body ached. He felt dangerously close to dissolving fully into grief in her arms. As much as he needed her now, there was not much he could risk telling. To collapse would require explanation. 

"I am afraid I may not be up to my usual standard of performance tonight, Seeker..." 

Their first night together had been explosive. Tonight, he feared he would only disappoint her. How he was even conscious and reasonably coherent at this point eluded him.

The glance Cassandra gave him then was gentle and affectionate.

"Do not be concerned," the Seeker said, climbing on top of him so that she was straddling his hips. That got his blood flowing. "I know this may be a concept that is... _foreign_ , to you, Solas, but all you have to do is lie back and relax."

"'Relax?'" he echoed. "Hmm, is this a _human_ word?"

Cassandra raised a finger in protest.

"Do not speak." 

Solas looked up at her and licked his lower lip. 

"I think—" he began.

" _Stop_ ," Cassandra ordered, with a firmness that prodded at a special place in his heart.

"Very well," Solas said. "If it would _please_ you."

Cassandra sighed her disapproval. He had made her impatient. Which he liked. 

"It would. And yet you are _still_ talking," the Seeker said, flatly, glowering now. Solas chuckled into the edge of the pillow.  "Does this _amuse_ you?" she demanded.

"Not at all," he lied.

"Solas. _Are_ you going to take this seriously?" the Seeker chided, narrowing her dark eyes.

Solas nodded obediently, forcing the smirk away and replacing it with his best look of smouldering desire. It was not difficult to summon. He was, after all, pinned under a haughty, forceful woman flushed with her own wanting.

"Good," Cassandra said, and  helped him out of his fur-lined tunic, wasting no time. She pulled the jawbone necklace off of him and set it on the nightstand, still straddling him. 

Now shirtless, his heart pounded as Cassandra pressed hot kisses into his neck and shoulders. Solas buried his fingers in Cassandra's hair. Her hands were all over his bare skin, her kisses desperate and toothy, rough and unabashed in their wanting. Before long she had pulled his breeches down unceremoniously. She knelt between his spread legs, moving back on the bed to go down on him. Solas felt her mouth close over his organ, her tongue smoothly pressing against the underside of his shaft as she began to gently suck and jerk him. What she lacked in finesse she more than made up for in determination. Solas tipped his head back and moaned raggedly. There was something to be said for aggressive enthusiasm.  Perhaps he should leave Skyhold more often, he thought. Clearly, she had missed him.   


He placed a guiding hand on the back of the woman's head, as she rather ambitiously forced his member further down her throat.

Solas was a great deal more _endowed_ than anyone would have guessed, but Cassandra seemed undeterred. She had worked him in there deep and tight. 

After a time, she came up for air, nearly choking, before sliding him back inside her mouth, sloppy and hard. Solas adjusted his hips, grabbed a fistful of her hair, and swore softly. That was just what he needed. Just how he liked it.

He would have finished then, if it hadn't been for the premature leak he had sprung earlier. Perhaps that had been a blessing in disguise...

She may have been on top, but Solas was getting so hard so fast that he was finding it hard to let her set the pace. He had moved his free hand so he could feel the bulge of Cassandra's throat each time he slid himself up inside it. He pressed in further. She twitched and coughed, and he pulled her head back firmly, providing reprieve. Solas growled, already more than a little desperate, as she wiped her mouth, rolled away, and undressed quickly beside the bed. Jolted out of exhaustion and self-pity as one generally was by the utterly shameless deep-throating of one's throbbing cock, Solas moved to sit up. The sight of her naked body had him even harder, fully ready to take her. 

Cassandra, however, had other plans. Before he could turn the tables, she had pushed him back underneath her. Solas watched with satisfaction as she gasped, brow furrowing with effort as she carefully levered her slick entrance slowly down onto his thick shaft, until he was buried fully in her.

"Oh, _Solas_..." she moaned, as his shape stretched her to the limit. The way she said his name then... he worried, for the fate of Thedas.

At the tight pleasure of her body squeezing in around his thick, throbbing length, Solas reached around and grabbed her backside possessively, letting his fingertips sink into the firm, muscled flesh. That was a _perfect_ ass. He couldn't help himself: he slapped it a few times, just hard enough to let her know this was a deliberate spanking. She cried out at this sudden treatment, grinding herself down on him harder. Was that retaliation? Solas hoped it was. Her breasts looked amazing from this angle, bouncing over him. He pinched one of her nipples, just a bit too hard, and she gasped as she wrestled his hand away from her breast's sensitive peak.

In response, Solas grabbed her other breast and slapped it smartly with an open palm. Cassandra glared and made a hard, desperate sound. He got the sense that his roughness both mildly offended her and drove her wild. Her subsequent confusion was stunning to witness. He slapped her again, careful not to cause any real damage, and her indignation gave way to a moan of real helpless need.

"So. You like it rough, Seeker?" he teased, and gave her perfect ass another spank.

"Clearly... _you_ do," she panted. At last reminding him who was supposed to be on top here, Cassandra grabbed Solas's wrists and forced his hands to his sides.  Solas grunted, gritting his teeth as she rocked herself faster against his hips, this time in a smooth, athletic rhythm that left him reeling with pleasure. 

She was being so good to him, he decided to reach inside her with a soft, teasing current of magic. He wanted to fill her with it in all the places she had never dreamed of feeling it... but Cassandra's powers rose against this impulse. Their energies mixed like water and oil, in the air between them. Her hands on his skin seemed suddenly to scald him. He tried to soothe himself with frost. His abilities were stifled. He was unable to summon the spell. A kind of opposing magnetism thrummed in the air. A song, not unlike red Lyrium's. Solas could taste metal. He grunted, lost in the strange feeling of the Seeker's will pressing into him.

She ground Solas's power down to nothing, as she rode him harder, deeper, left him gasping…

Solas's consciousness _swam_. It was like feeling the disorienting pain of a head injury, only without the pain. There was only swimming pressure. Impossible, _heavy_ pressure, squeezing in, strangling all the magic out of everything around him... severing him from the Fade. Drowning him in the physical. And the physical was... intense. Consuming. 

Solas's senses heightened threefold. Maybe more. The longer Cassandra exerted her will, the worse it got. His breathing grew ragged and deep. The more the pleasure blossomed in his loins. The more he was aware of every twinge, everything hot and wet and perfect tightening around him... He couldn't fight it.

This was happening so quickly, Solas wasn't ready.

“Slowly… _slowly_ …” he begged her, on the verge of an earth shattering release. She pointedly ignored him, and rode him harder, which, he had to admit, was exactly what he deserved. She moaned out her pleasure to him with every deep stroke. Her thighs squeezed in as she bounced up and down.

Solas closed his eyes against the rush of impending obliteration. There was no Fade. It was nowhere. He was nowhere. He was not himself... He started to panic. He had nothing left. Nothing. No Spirit—he was only sensations. Pure, sharp, sensations he could not control. She controlled them, and by extension, she controlled him. He knew he was wholly at her mercy and it shook him, to the core. Fear spiked in him. Had she made him Tranquil? Could he die like this? Could this kill him? Did he even _care_ anymore?

Everything else be damned.  All he wanted was to come inside her. To give her his seed. But he _shouldn't_ want that—

Solas was beside himself with need, now. Rigid. Rutting. Trying to sit up.

"I'm going to—" She pushed him down. " _—_ " He gasped.

He tried to pull back, to get some relief from her relentless strokes. End this torment. But he couldn't. He let out a desperate whine.

Cassandra had the jut of his chin in her hand, one finger toying at his lower lip possessively. 

"I want you to come inside me," she breathed. Solas grabbed her wrist and shuddered. The statement was shockingly direct. And exactly what he already wanted to do.

He had managed to partially sit up, but Cassandra was still grinding down on his cock like her life depended on it. Solas closed an arm around her waist and bent her forward, pulling her chest down toward him. He was only vaguely aware that he was grunting, growling, head lolling into her waiting hands. She kissed his neck. Crushed herself into him. Hips rocked firmly. He was biting her, somewhere... he didn't care where. He tightened his abdomen hard and moved to bury his face in her soft breasts.

"It is all right, Solas," she soothed, even as he gripped at her body violently, fighting the inevitable. "Yes. _Yes_. Come for—"

A mix of Elvhen and stuttered, useless syllables spilled out of him as he gave in. To say he came harder than he ever had would still have been an understatement.  At the moment of release, he feared he really had been rendered Tranquil. His mind momentarily emptied, Solas fell back, spent, into the pillows. His cock and thighs twitched.

Cassandra finally pulled herself off of him, then took him in her hands and mouth, again. She lapped up all the excess on him, licked him clean as she ran her hands over the smooth lengths of his shuddering thighs. 

His tip was so sensitive now that the touch of her soft mouth hurt him. Yet even the pain was good. 

Solas realized, in numb shock, that tears were streaming down his face. He reached up and wiped them away quickly, afraid she would see. Had she seen already? When had this started? Solas lay back and closed his eyes, turning away from her as she finally lay beside him. 

"How do you feel, Solas?" she asked. The question threw him off. The answer was... complicated.

"I... thought you had made me Tranquil," he confessed.

Cassandra scoffed, and smacked his chest playfully.

"I would not do that."

"That is a comfort to hear. Mm—you were very... insistent, tonight, Seeker."

Solas considered their conversation, when he had first returned to Skyhold. Cassandra had said she would protect him, however she had to. The way she said it, he did not doubt that she believed that. However, she did not know everything. Solas doubted she would be quick to forgive him for his deception. And then there was the matter of his... future plans. Something twisted in Solas's stomach then, and he felt as though everything was crashing in around him. As though he could not go on like this. He wished she had ended him. Made him Tranquil. He wished it even as he hated that he did.

He was silent for a while, resting his cheek on her shoulder. When he spoke, his voice felt hollow.

"I am sorry..."

There was a long silence. Cassandra ran her hands over his arms soothingly. 

"For what?" she asked, finally.

He did not answer for a long time. 

"Solas?" she asked, softly prodding him.

The mage was sound asleep, his face pressed heavily into her shoulder. A single clear droplet clung to the corner of his eyelashes, leaving her to wonder at it for a moment.

Cassandra watched his peaceful face and wondered what sort of dream Solas wandered, deep in the Fade. There was so much about him that was strange to her. Unsettling, even. And yet, there was a decency, a wisdom and gravitas to him that pulled at her. There was playfulness, too. A lightness she relished in seeing him reveal. He kept so much of himself hidden...

Cassandra held him, and counted the faint dusting of freckles across his nose.

He had no right to look this pure and peaceful when he slept.

 


	8. Knocking on Heaven's Door

It seemed as soon as they had both resolved to pursue their covert affair in earnest, the Seeker and Solas were swept apart by a sudden influx of urgent Inquisition business. For weeks, Cassandra was away from Skyhold, accompanying the Inquisitor to the Emprise du Lion, and then heading directly to Cair Oswin, to investigate some disturbing matters concerning Lord Commander Lucius and the Seekers.

On the Inquisitor's orders, Solas had been sequestered at Skyhold, researching the artifacts he had gathered. 

As soon as she returned from Cair Oswin, Cassandra wanted nothing more than to seek Solas out. They had much to discuss, and spending weeks without even the sight of the mage had left her as sexually unfulfilled as she could remember being in a long, long time.

It took nearly a day for them to finally manoeuvre themselves into each other's company. After a short meeting in the war room with Lavellan's advisors, Solas and the Seeker had continued their discussion, leaving the castle's interior and strolling out to Skyhold's sunny garden, side by side. 

“The book that we recovered from Cair Oswin contained many interesting things, Solas.  As you know, the Mage rebellion finally began in earnest when people discovered that the right of Tranquility could be reversed. But it appears we’ve always known how to reverse that right, from the beginning," Cassandra revealed, striding along beside the mage. 

“The Order no doubt kept that knowledge a secret,” he replied crisply. 

“Yes. We… _created_ the rite of Tranquility.” Cassandra sighed. “I told you of my vigil, the months I spent emptying myself of all emotion? I was made Tranquil, and didn’t even know.” Solas frowned gravely. “The vigil summoned a spirit of faith, to touch my mind,” Cassandra explained. “That broke Tranquility…”

“You were touched by a spirit of Faith?” Solas sounded intrigued.  “That is—remarkable.”

Cassandra nodded, lowering her voice as they passed by a pair of Chantry sisters. 

“The spirit ended my tranquility, and granted me my abilities as a Seeker.”

Cassandra caught sight of Mother Giselle, a few paces away, near Skyhold's elven gardener. She felt a pang of self-consciousness, even guilt. Maker, what would Giselle have to say, if she were to know about Cassandra and Solas? They had managed to keep it a secret so far. Solas never discussed personal matters, and the only person Cassandra had confided in at all was Cullen, and even then, as far as the Commander knew, it had been a momentary lapse--one night, and no more. 

“Solas, there is more," Cassandra said, as they strolled the sunlit garden path. "Lucius was not wrong about the Order. I thought to rebuild the Seekers, once victory was ours. Now I’m not certain it deserves to be rebuilt. I do not think the Seekers have been doing the Maker’s work, not truly.”

“I would tend to agree with your assessment," Solas said, carefully.

“At some point,” Cassandra went on, “power becomes its own master. We cast aside ideals in favour of expedience. And tell ourselves it was all necessary, for the people.” 

“You are wiser than most, to say so,” said Solas. 

“Will that happen to us, Solas?” Cassandra asked, as they passed under the garden's stone overhang, now walking in the welcoming shade of the castle wall.

“Those who do not heed the past are often doomed to repeat it.” The look in the elf's eyes was distant, then. “If you do not think the Order worthy of its power, perhaps it is best if the Seekers were disbanded forever. No organization is incorruptible, not even the Inquisition.”

She turned to him, and in the shadow of the castle, he gave her a small smile and her heart melted a little. 

“It is always interesting to hear your perspective, Solas.”

“I am pleased you find it so,” said the mage.

Cassandra wished they were not in public view. She wanted desperately to be in his arms again. 

“Now I now know my abilities do not come from the Maker, as I had once thought.” To be honest, Cassandra felt a little lost. Her faith was so much a part of her that to question it was to question who she was. Glancing back toward the peopled gardens subtly, Solas stepped closer and dropped his voice to a reassuring whisper. 

“Your abilities declare the world real, Cassandra.” He peered into her eyes. “Who, if not the Maker of this world, could grant such a gift?”

“You believe in the Maker?” Her eyes searched his for a moment, hopeful despite herself. Solas swallowed visibly.  

“I am always open to new ideas.”

That did not answer her question, but she was not in the mood to press Solas for answers. She was in another mood entirely.

“Oh?” Cassandra prodded. "In that case, I may have a few more for you to consider.” 

She fixed him with a steady desirous glance, but Solas was not blushing. Not yet.   
  
“I look forward to hearing them.” There was an open storage room, just a few paces away. Solas flicked his gaze toward it. "Perhaps a more private setting would suit such discussion, Seeker Pentaghast?"

She followed him to the small, cluttered room, watching the steady shift of his hips as he walked. Maker, she had missed that  _walk_. Glancing back at the gardens for an instant, Solas carefully shut the door and locked it behind her. Against the back wall of the room was the Eluvian Morrigan had shown the Inquisitor. 

Cassandra's attention was elsewhere, however. As soon as he had locked the door, she pressed Solas's back into it, kissing him firmly.

“Solas,” she breathed, desperate for more of him. He made a soft, low, sound and gathered her in his arms, returning her kiss measure for measure.   
  
For a long time they remained entwined, simply rediscovering the comfort of being in one another's arms. It had been weeks since they had so much as touched. Cassandra drank in the sweetness of his eyes, and they kissed one another in a gentle, probing way.  
  
In their haste of movement, the flap of Solas's tunic had been pushed back and Cassandra could see and feel the firm, long shape of him, beneath his tight breeches. Maker, she had never wanted a man so fully, never needed him inside her so badly.  
  
She reached for his manhood.   
  
Though he was furiously hard for her, Solas was having none of it. Worry rose in him, though he did his best to disguise it. He pushed her hands away, raising an eyebrow in challenge.

“I would not have you _here_ , in a dusty storage room at midday. Besides, surely the prolonged anticipation is cause for a certain measure of enjoyment,” he reasoned. 

“Ugh. It has been nearly a month. That is not enjoyment,” Cassandra pointed out. “That is... suffering.”

“Sometimes the two are not so dissimilar,” said Solas, even as she leaned in and kissed his neck. Cassandra pulled back and looked at him carefully, an idea only now occurring to her. 

“Did you encounter any women, in the Fade? While I was away?” 

“I… am not sure what you mean.”

Cassandra narrowed her eyes. Running her hands over her body, she began unbuttoning her tunic, revealing her breasts to him, aware of the way his gaze lingered on them hotly. She ran her hands over the swell of her breasts, making her nipples harden visibly, as he watched her. 

" _This_ , Solas.”

Solas cleared his throat. 

“Ah... no. I mean-- _yes_. Spirits have been known to… _tempt_ me. From time to time,” he said, as Cassandra unbuttoned her tunic the rest of the way. “None recently,” he added.

“So I should not be worried?” she asked, her torso now fully exposed.

“You expect that I would be unfaithful?” Solas asked. He sounded truly curious. “To the Seeker of Truth? To the Divine’s Right Hand? To a woman who could very likely kill me in single combat?”

Cassandra smiled.

“And how should I know what you would or would not do, Solas?” She placed one hand on the collar of his tunic and pulled him an inch closer. “You keep a great deal to yourself…” She let her hands run down her belly, and lower still, as Solas let his eyes follow. 

“No. Since I have known you, Seeker, I have found it a challenge to _notice_ anyone else." He leaned closer, dropping his voice to a honeyed whisper. "You are so beautiful, Cassandra." Solas brushed her lips with his thumb, gently. 

“Hmm," she said, gathering his hand in hers and kissing it. "You are quite the sweet talker, Solas, when you want to be.”

“Well, in that case, would you like to hear more of my journeys in the Fade?” he asked, abruptly. 

Cassandra narrowed her eyes. 

“Only if you also undress me.” 

Solas looked her up and down as he helped her out of her open shirt, slowly. 

“Mmm,” he crooned, softly, as he took in the sight of her. “I have not told you much of the Elves… from before our time. The Dalish remember only fragments of fragments, though it is more than most. Elvhenan was the Empire, and Arlathan its greatest city. A place of magic and beauty, lost to time…”

As he spoke, he reached down and unbuckled her belt, his fingers setting to the task with great skill, if not great speed. Cassandra felt a growing throb of need between her legs.

“You hear stories of them living in trees, and imagine wooden ramps or Dalish aravels. Imagine instead spires of crystal twining through the branches…”

Solas leaned in and touched his lips to each of her nipples, casually biting, pulling them taut between his teeth. He then allowed his tongue to press into them, sucking softly, careful not to hurt her.  
  
Cassandra tried to stifle a moan.

Solas looked up from between her breasts. 

“…Palaces among the clouds.”

Solas slid her boots off of her feet carefully, then her breeches: one by one, down each leg, taking his sweet time. Cassandra's skin prickled with gooseflesh. Underneath her breeches, she was perfectly naked, uncovered but for a small patch of hair. Solas let out a soft exhale at the sight. 

“Imagine beings who lived forever…” Solas went on, unhurried. Maker, she had been away too long...

Solas sat back against a wooden crate and gathered Cassandra's now naked body onto his own fully-clothed lap, nestling her against the soft folds of his well-worn clothing. Cassandra was straddling the cloth that covered the top of his thigh. He rocked her a little, on his leg, and the fur of his collar brushed against her exposed neck as he paused to kiss her mouth, deeply. Solas ran his hands over the smooth expanse of her skin, his slow, controlled touch growing heated, possessive. His kisses deep and long. 

He grabbed her chin firmly and forced his tongue inside her mouth with surprising confidence, gripping her ass with his other hand. 

Cassandra was sure she was soaking her arousal into his breeches.

He pulled his mouth from hers abruptly, and hovered a millimetre from it.

“…Beings for whom magic was as natural as breathing,” he whispered, his voice impossibly low and gentle.

Solas finally slipped his hand between her legs and his fingertips nudged at her arousal.

Cassandra was breathing so hard that she felt ready to combust.

Just then, there was a loud rap at the door.   
  
“Cassandra? Are you in there?” It was Commander Cullen’s voice. “There is some Chantry sister here who won't leave me alone until I let her speak with you.”

Cassandra shot up off of Solas’s lap like lightning.

“Yes! I—I will be out in a minute. I—had to attend to a… personal matter!” She reached for her clothing.

“A personal—? Ah, right. Well…”  
  
Cassandra could imagine the exact face Cullen was making.

“Just a moment!” she cried. “I will meet you—in—just a moment!” Cassandra frantically put herself back into her breeches and leather tunic. 

“Thank you. She seems rather _impatient,_ ” Cullen called, just beyond the locked door.

“Understood! I am coming, Commander!”

“Or, perhaps more accurately, you _wish_ you were,” Solas observed, in the barest of whispers, as he helped Cassandra back into the boots he had so lovingly removed moments earlier. 

Cassandra glared her disapproval, her mouth a thin line.  
  
The Seeker pointed desperately at the door, shrugging and throwing her arms up in the air wildly. What was she supposed to do with Solas? Hide him in a crate?  
  
Solas shook his head, and straightened his clothing, unnervingly calm. As if by magic, he was the serious rift mage once more. He crossed the room, took his staff from where it leaned against the wall and went to the eluvian. Speaking under his breath, he waved his hand and activated the mirror's iridescent surface. The glass came to life in front of him. Cassandra's mouth fell open.

Solas turned and slipped through the mirror's surface quietly, without another word. After a moment, the eluvian sealed behind him.

Cassandra could only stare. _How_ did he know how to do that? Had he and Morrigan discussed this? 

"Cassandra?" Cullen asked, from beyond the door.  
  
Still flustered, unsure of exactly what she had just witnessed, Cassandra smoothed her hair, and opened the door to greet the Commander.

Cullen stared at her for a moment. He peered over her shoulder into the innocently empty room.

"Is everything alright?" he asked the Seeker.

"Yes. Of course. Everything is perfectly fine."

"Was there... someone in there with you?" Cullen asked, haltingly suspicious. 

"What! No. Not at all. See for yourself."

"What were you... _doing_?"  
  
Cassandra opened her mouth, then shut it. She stepped into the bright sunlight.

“Just show me where this Chantry sister is.”

Cullen sighed.

"She's waiting in my office..."

 


	9. A Strange Proposal

Solas was in the library, seated by a shelf in a small alcove, reading, when he saw Cassandra coming, and everything inside him changed to fluttering energy. He cleared his throat and rose to his feet. He had been waiting patiently to see her again all day. In fact, he had thought of little else, even as he had discussed matters with Dorian and Leliana regarding the Inquisitor's ongoing investigation into the disappearing Wardens. 

“Ah, Cassandra," he said, lightly. "Do you wish to continue our previous discussion? If I am not mistaken, my thoughts on the ancient elves seemed to… _arouse_ your interest.”

She was silent for a moment too long, and he could tell something was amiss. 

“Solas, they—have nominated me as a candidate to be the new Divine.”

Solas’s coy smile vanished. He could think of nothing to say, for a time. 

“Are you not… too young?” he asked, looking for some reason that this could all be a mistake. 

“No. Of course not. In fact, as the current Right Hand of the Divine, I am told my chances are… quite good.”

Solas looked down at his hands, playing with a loose thread in his sleeve. If Cassandra was made Divine, that would change many things. If the last Divine’s fate was any indication of the general safety of the job, then she would be putting herself at great personal danger. Also, he could not imagine her abandoning the Inquisition, not after everything she had done here.  Would she leave him? 

“And… is this something you _want_?” Solas asked, carefully.

“I… do not know," said Cassandra, glancing around the shelves, as if making sure they were alone. She had dropped her voice to a near whisper. "It does not matter what I _want_ , Solas. It matters what is best for the Chantry, and for Thedas.”

“Of course,” said Solas, quickly, lest she catch onto his dismay. “You must do your duty. Do what you believe is best.”

“In any case, they have not chosen, yet. I am merely in consideration," Cassandra mused, leaning against the shelf nearest to him. "I am told Leliana is also being considered. I have not had a chance to speak with her yet.” Cassandra sighed. “I can hardly believe it has come to this—that they would consider either of us, after what we have done in forming the Inquisition. I thought the Chantry would label me a heretic, a traitor, and leave it at that. But no. Now they ask if I am willing to _lead_ them? _Ugh_.” Cassandra paced, her hands on her hips. “Solas. What do _you_ think I should tell them?”

Solas thought for a moment.

“Are you asking me as a member of the Inquisition, or as your… illicit companion?” Solas eyed her warily. Cassandra drew a little closer to him. They were eye to eye now, nearly touching, by the corner shelf. 

“My _companion_.”   
  
Her voice was disarmingly soft. It always took his breath away a little, when she shifted from her business voice to the distinctly more feminine one she also had tucked away in her arsenal.

“ _I_ would have you _stay_ ,” Solas said, with a tightly restrained passion. “At least, for now. Do not let them tell you what you must become. While there is still time, the Inquisition needs you here.” It was the truth. “You should do what makes you happy, Cassandra…”

“ _You_ make me happy,” she said, softly. 

The Seeker glanced back surreptitiously, then pushed Solas back against the bookshelf, placing her hands on his hip bones. Solas let her.

“And as Divine, you would of course discontinue the suppression of the rights of the mages of Thedas,” he suggested, as she discretely felt him up. 

“Oh?” Cassandra’s hand tightened around him. Solas swallowed hard. He was helpless for a moment as she felt the erect shape of him through the soft folds of his clothing. “Hmm,” Cassandra said,“Perhaps I am only imagining it, but I think all this talk of _suppressing_ the mages is turning you on a little bit, Solas.”

_ Oh, was it ever.  _

Solas kept his voice calm.

“Perhaps you _are_ imagining it. Perhaps we are in the Fade, right now, even as we speak.”

Cassandra slapped him lightly, across his chest. 

“That is not funny!" she exclaimed.

He knew that he should have known better than to taunt her, when she had her hand right near his— _ah_ , there it was. She squeezed him in one hand, and he winced.

“By all means, Cassandra, suppress _me_ any time you wish," he whispered. "So long as such behaviour does not extend to your Chantry policies—”

They broke apart and quieted their conversation, momentarily, as an Inquisition scholar passed by, saying goodnight. They nodded politely. Cassandra pretended to be searching for a book. Solas felt his heartbeat thumping in his neck at the rush of avoiding discovery. When the coast was clear once more, Solas turned to Cassandra, searching her eyes.

“Would it be so strange, to meet me in the Fade?” 

“What do you mean, Solas?” Cassandra asked. Of course she was wary of anything involving the Fade.

“I mean, when you are asleep, Seeker. Would it be… overstepping my bounds, to find you, in your dreams? To speak with you, there?”

She stared at him.

“Is such a thing even possible?”

“Assuming you have dreams, which you do, unless you are… secretly a dwarf, which seems unlikely. Yes.”

“You could… _find_ me?” she echoed. "How?”

“Were we both to be asleep, at the same time… I could locate you. I have experience with such things. And I know a spell. I could leave a… marker, of sorts, inside you.”

“ _Inside_ me.” Cassandra shot him a skeptical look. “Is that really necessary?”

“It would make things… easier. Yes.”

“That is a—a very strange proposal," she said, crossing her arms.

“I know. But you might enjoy it, Seeker. Skyhold is... full of prying eyes. And we have spent so much time apart… it would ease the distance, would it not?”

“Perhaps… Solas. Are you sure it is entirely safe?”

“Of course," he replied, promptly re-shelving a miscategorized volume. 

"Does the Inquisition _pay_ you to do that?" she asked, nodding toward the book he had just put away and showing him a cheeky smile.

"No. I use the Inquisition's library. I might as well take care of it. Libraries are... important."

"I see. I am sorry, Solas. I interrupted you."

He wanted her in the Fade. All of her.

"I was just thinking that... the world of the Fade is as real to me as this one, if not _more_ so—at times. I only mean to say that things have always been easier for me, in the Fade.”

“What things, specifically?” Cassandra asked.

“Oh. A great number of things,” said Solas, seeing that the room was now empty. “Some of which I suspect you might find particularly—" He smacked her bottom with both hands, and she only half squelched her yelp of surprise."— _stimulating_.”   
  
His palms fit around the round firm shape of her ass, as he squeezed it, and watched with satisfaction as  Cassandra blushed like a guilty schoolgirl.

“Let me take you…” he coaxed, "All of you… Your body and your spirit, Cassandra—let me show you how.” 

"Mmm... Do I have a choice?" she breathed, eyes half closing as he grabbed her.  


"There is always a choice," he whispered. Then he gave her the sort of kiss that made it very easy to choose.


	10. Nightmare

As it happened, Cassandra got to visit the Fade with Solas within a matter of days. Unfortunately, the encounter was nothing like what they had intended. It had begun when both Solas and Cassandra had accompanied Lavellan to Adamant Fortress. They had travelled there along with Kirkwall’s former champion Hawke, Warden Stroud, and Sera. While Cullen and the soldiers had laid siege to Adamant, the Inquisitor’s small party had reached Warden Commander Clarel. Clarel had allowed the Wardens to become corrupted by Corypheus, thanks to Erimond's treachery. 

Lavellan tried to reason with Clarel, but in the chaos that ensued, Erimond unleashed Corypheus’s dragon, and the entire group somehow found themselves trapped on a crumbling ledge over the Abyss below. As their footing fell away under them, Cassandra tried to reach out to Solas, who was but a few feet ahead of her. Before their hands touched, Solas was knocked back by a piece of rubble and they were all falling fast into the Abyss. 

Lavellan’s hand glowed bright green, even as she grabbed at the empty air. 

Below, a rift opened.

Cassandra cried out, blindly reaching, but it was too late. She was falling, infinitely, into the Fade…

*

Cassandra and Solas were both astounded that they could all be here physically, but Cassandra noticed Solas had been regarding the entire experience with perhaps a little too much exhilaration, in place of a healthy dose of mortal dread. In the ethereal light of the Fade, the mage looked better than Cassandra had ever seen him. The sparkling blue-violet of his eyes was sharp. Even his stride seemed longer, more confident. Everything about Solas was bright and powerful here. 

Cassandra understood that he studied the Fade, but she could not wrap her head around how he could look so poised, here, even being taunted by the Nightmare. The others were decidedly more disturbed by the experience. 

Cassandra was faring particularly badly, though she was determined not to show it. The shock of meeting what appeared to be the spirit of Divine Justinia, and the fear brought on by the insidious taunts of the Nightmare who lorded over this realm, had made the Seeker uncharacteristically nervous.

It was as though Cassandra could hear the Nightmare inside her head. Her deepest fears surfaced, in her mind…

As they fought their way through the Fade, trying to get back to through the rift to Adamant, the Seeker went to great lengths to conceal her feelings from the rest of the group. She was painfully conscious of the fact that she was one of only two warriors among them. She was their strongest line of defence in battle, and she could not afford to show weakness. As they meandered through the strangeness of the Fade, searching for the way out, Cassandra grew quieter and quieter as she fought with herself to master her fear. 

After spending hours here, she was well beyond merely nervous. Cassandra was terrified, almost beyond reason. The longer they lingered, the more she found herself weighed down with the deep fear the Nightmare had prodded inside of her. 

She had been pointedly avoiding Solas, not wanting to attract his concern.

“Do you wish to talk, Seeker?” Solas asked finally, after they had helped to recover Lavellan’s memories of the events at the Conclave.  
  
“No.” She walked on in silence. Solas would not understand, she told herself. This was _her_ fear, _her_ anxiety. Not his. He seemed so calm here. He would not understand.

“I only ask because you seem troubled,” said Solas, gently. 

“It is not your concern,” she assured him, keeping her eyes ahead. What if he could understand, though? Cassandra wondered. Solas understood the Fade in terms no other mage did. 

It was a long time before Cassandra finally resolved to catch his attention.

“Solas, I… It is—difficult to find the words. I know that I must remain strong. That the Inquisitor is counting on me… but, I cannot face the Nightmare. I _cannot_ do it… It’s as though he speaks—inside me. If I face him and I fail to resist—I could jeopardize everything. It feels as though… I simply have no way of fighting him. It is beyond me.”

“This is what you have been feeling? All this time?”

She nodded, ashamed. She could not hide her fear. The slight tremor in her voice. Even her hands were shaking. It was… humiliating.

“Cassandra, just look at me. Relax. Breathe. Good.” Solas put his hands on her shoulders, and she felt instant warmth and reassurance. 

“Hey, Elfy! Cassandra!” Sera called to them, from up ahead. “Creepy lair thing! Up here!” 

“Just a moment,” Solas called to her.

He turned to Cassandra, concern plainly etched on his face.

“What if the Nightmare—possesses me?” Cassandra asked.

“I will not let that happen, Cassandra.”

Her breathing was sharp, laboured. Solas reached out and took her cold hands in his, and clasped them tightly. 

“If I let down my guard, and he possesses me—” 

“He _won’t._ ” Solas sounded so certain. “Come here,” he said, very softly, and, in the shelter of a rocky outcrop, she leaned against him, allowing him to ease her pain.

“What are you afraid of, Cassandra?” Solas asked.

She could not meet his gaze, not like this. Not this close. 

“…of—helplessness. Of _losing control_ ,” she said, finally. 

“Cassandra, you cannot fight this as you are accustomed to. This is fear itself. Simply pushing it away will not work. You must face your fear, truly, and defeat it. You must accept your fear. _Allow_ yourself to experience it. You cannot always control it.”

“But, Solas…” 

Solas squeezed her hand.

_“Your Inquisitor is a fraud, Cassandra,”_ the Nightmare goaded. _“Yet more evidence there is no Maker, that all your “faith” has been for naught.”_

“Enough!” Solas shouted, before Cassandra could respond. 

The Nightmare laughed, turning its attention on Solas. 

“ _Oh? What’s this? Dirth ma, harellan. Ma banal enasalin. Mar solas ena mar din_.”

“ _Banal nadas_ ,” said Solas. “Pay him no heed, Cassandra.” 

“Look out!” Hawke cried, suddenly. Cassandra and Solas pulled apart and moved to see what was happening.

“Fall back!” Lavellan ordered. Away behind her, the enormous spider-like shape of the Nightmare's demonic form loomed, poised to attack.

The Nightmare laughed. 

“We will face this together,” said Solas, quickly summoning a barrier around Cassandra as she moved to charge the creature with Stroud, as Lavellan, Sera, and Hawke fell back to a safer distance. 

As the creature approached, Divine Justinia’s spirit, or whatever form of the Divine it was who had guided them this far, moved to attack. 

“The Nightmare has found us,” the Divine said, her ethereal form floating upwards. “Cassandra, if you would, please tell Leliana ‘I am sorry. I failed you too.’”

“No! _No!_ ” Cassandra cried, but it was too late. In a bright flash of light, Justinia was consumed, colliding with the enormous Nightmare demon, undoubtedly weakening it as she did so.

In front of it a smaller, though still horrifying form, appeared—in the shape of some sort of human-arachnoid terror.

As Cassandra charged forward toward this new aspect of the Nightmare, she could feel Solas’s magic with her, inside her lungs… pumping through her veins. His presence inside her was pure, serene. She felt her fears calmed. 

The mage's voice, now entirely inside her head, guided her, comforted her.   
  
“ _Breathe, Cassandra. Allow your faith to guide you…_ ”

It could have been the Maker’s own voice, for all the power Cassandra had to deny it. The Nightmare’s voice was drowned out, as were her fears. There was only Solas. His energy surrounded her centre, filling her with peace. 

As she had during her Harrowing, when the spirit of faith had touched her, Cassandra thought her heart might burst, as if it was filled with the Maker’s love.

Solas filled her with spirit energy for the duration of the battle, even as he cast offensive spells, burning through the demon and its smaller spider-like hosts with a reckless and raging fire that rarely waned. They all fought hard, but Solas seemed to have been pushing the limits of his strength. It was not until well into the skirmish with the terror that Cassandra realized Solas had been depleting his stores of mana at an alarming rate. Despite the demon's hard-hitting attacks, he had ensured that the Seeker had hardly taken any damage. 

Over her shoulder, Cassandra could see that the elven mage had fallen back. He could no longer even keep the barrier around himself raised. 

“Solas needs help!” she cried to Warden Stroud, who was closer. Solas had left himself dangerously open to attack now. 

Even as she said it, the creature ascended on Solas quickly, sensing opportunity. From behind him, its sharp claw-like appendages sank through his flesh, piercing his shoulder, back, and chest.

“No!” Sera cried, firing an explosive shot into the creature's front. It screamed, recoiling. 

Cassandra charged, shield raised, into the creature, but she was not fast enough. Solas had fallen to the ground under the powerful blow, blood pouring out of him, staff cracked… though he was still conscious, for the time being. The terror lurched toward him. Solas raised his hand to his temple weakly, mind-blasting the demon back from what would surely have been a killing blow.

Cassandra shielded Solas from the next blow herself, throwing her body headlong into the terror’s side, bashing hard and fast, with all her strength. 

She let out a rallying cry as she and Stroud delivered the terror to a brutal end, while Lavellan cast a desperate barrier around Solas, who lay crumpled in pain on the ground behind them. 

Before Cassandra and Stroud could reach Solas, they were stopped in their tracks by the truly mountainous form of the enormous spider demon bearing down on the group, cutting them off from the rift that led back to Adamant.

“We need to clear a path!” Stroud cried, staring up a the utterly massive demon.

By now they had fought their way past the smaller creature and made it so close to the rift that they might be able to get through, if only they could make it past this gargantuan spider…

“Go!” Cassandra cried to the others. Lavellan was still casting spells, covering Cassandra as best she could. Sera was fresh out of arrows, falling back in desperation, cursing as she went. Cassandra, Stroud, and Hawke stared up at the impossible Nightmare bearing down on them. 

“You two, go!” Hawke ordered, his daggers ready. 

“No! You were right,” Stroud conceded. “The grey wardens caused this. A warden must—”

“A warden must help them rebuild!” Hawke growled. “That’s your job, Stroud. Corypheus is mine.”

Cassandra ran to Solas’s side.  
  
“Don’t be a fool!” Stroud said, but Hawke shoved the Warden back toward the rift.

“It has been an honour, Inquisitor. Seeker," said Hawke, turning to her sadly. "Tell Varric I'm sorry..."

“Cassandra! Hurry!” Lavellan yelled to the Seeker, desperate.

There was no time to think. Cassandra had to act. She bent down and gathered Solas in her arms. He was losing a lot of blood. 

“Come on!” Stroud said, helping the Seeker to her feet. She exchanged a brief glance with Hawke before the Champion turned and cut a path for them, in a flurry of knife-swipes, through the underside of the enormous attacking demon.

“I’ve got him! Go!” Cassandra urged to Stroud, lifting Solas in her arms. For someone who wore cloth armour and seemed to be at least partially made of pure Fade energy, he was surprisingly heavy. Still, Cassandra heaved him upwards and carried him the rest of the way as she and Stroud followed Lavellan and Sera out of the rift to safety.

Upon emerging through the other side, at Adamant once more, Cassandra fell to her knees, exhausted. Lavellan crouched nearby, and sealed the rift, as the remaining wardens looked on thankfully. Cullen was nearby, with the troops.

“We need a healer! Someone!” Cassandra shouted, tears pricking the corners of her eyes. Lavellan had little skill in the way of healing magic. Solas had been the only healer among them. The gravely injured mage lay across Cassandra's lap, unmoving. He was dangerously white, his eyes shut, head lolling against her chest.

“ _Ma serannas,_ Cassandra… _Ne’emma lath, ma vhenan…_ ” Solas’s voice was reedy and weak.

“What is he saying?” Cassandra asked, turning to Lavellan. The Dalish mage paused for a moment, before answering. 

“He—he must be delirious,” Lavellan said, giving Cassandra a very odd look.

"Vivienne!" Cassandra called, catching sight of the mage. 

Enchanter Vivienne had pushed her way through the crowd to find them. 

“Cassandra?” the enchanter called.

“It’s Solas,” Cassandra said. “He needs help!” 

“Yes, that much is obvious…” Vivienne said, swooping in.

Lavellan, after giving Cassandra's shoulder a reassuring squeeze, rose to address the gathered wardens. 

The First Enchanter reached out a hand and locked onto Solas with a powerful wave of Spirit energy. Even as she healed him, Solas clung to what was left of consciousness, eyelids fluttering.

“Are we… not _banishing_ the wardens?” Solas whispered hoarsely to anyone who was listening, while Vivienne placed a hand on his torn chest and wove glowing strings of energy to seal the wounds there. 

“Let’s leave that decision to the Inquisitor, shall we?”

Solas frowned. 

“I don’t… approve of—”

His head fell to the side suddenly, his eyes shut, jaw slack.

Cassandra clutched him tighter for a moment, her breath catching in her throat.  
  
“Oh don’t worry, my dear,” said Vivienne, nonchalantly. “He’ll be fine. I just wanted to shut him up.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation of the Elvish phrase Solas said in this chapter:  
> “Ma serannas, Cassandra… Ne’emma lath, ma vhenan…”  
> "Thank you, Cassandra... You are my love, my heart..."


	11. Vhenan

Solas was less than thrilled about being indebted to Enchanter Vivienne for his speedy recovery, after Adamant, but he could not deny that the knight enchanter had patched him up well. He owed much to Cassandra, too. Without her he may never have returned from the Fade at all. Their victory that day had come at great cost. Hawke's sacrifice had not gone over well, with Varric. The dwarf was heartbroken, and furious with Cassandra for not having saved his friend. The last few days had been difficult. Tensions were running high. Inquisitor Lavellan and Cullen were particularly determined to track Corypheus down. Preparations were soon underway for a trip to the Arbor Wilds, with the full force of the Inquisition's army.

Solas knew Cassandra would be busy in the coming weeks, and months. 

The next night they were able to meet, in the abandoned officer's quarters, on the battlements. Solas was relieved to find her open to his ideas about meeting in the Fade, but Adamant had shaken her, and Solas was not about to force her back into the Fade yet. They agreed to wait. For now, he had promised to lie with her as she drifted off, bestowing a deep and dreamless slumber. 

In the soft darkness of the room, he held her in his arms. They lay together, still clothed, in the single bed. They faced one another, on their sides, comfortably entangled. 

"For a moment, I feared the worst, at Adamant," Cassandra admitted, her whispered words close to his ear.

"It could have been far worse," Solas replied. 

Cassandra ran her fingertips over his ears. It had not taken her long to realize the kind of response it produced in him. Solas closed his eyes at the sweet pleasure.

"What did you say to me, after?" she asked, softly. "When you spoke to me in Elvish?"

Solas planted a soft kiss on her forehead, in the darkness. 

"Perhaps that is a mystery best left for the ages," he whispered, too afraid to speak the depths of what he felt for her. That he had even dared it, in his own language, then, surprised and worried him. Lavellan had been right there. Had he forgotten all caution?  
  
He had never expected it would go so far...

" _Vhenan_ ," Cassandra breathed, not knowing what she had said. The word pulled and spread inside him like a bruise. "That was part of it."

" _Vhenan_ ," Solas whispered, giving in a little and tasting the word once more on his tongue. " _Ma vhenan_. My heart."  
  
He brushed her hair aside and kissed her, tenderly.

*

It was always a challenge to find new excuses to speak with the Seeker around Skyhold. Solas found himself saving up moments and errands for when he could hold off no longer. As the Inquisition prepared for its mission in the Arbor Wilds, Cassandra was out in the training yards with Cullen and Blackwall, conducting combat training exercises. Nearby, Bull and the Chargers were preparing as well.

Solas was careful not to seem too eager for Cassandra's company. He made sure to speak briefly with Krem and Dalish first, by the training yard. They invited him to the Herald's Rest for drinks later. According to Krem, the Chargers had been determined to buy Solas a round of drinks since they had heard of the thrilling conclusion of his ongoing chess match with the Iron Bull. Krem seemed particularly pleased that Solas had pulled off a win. Surprised at their attention, and a little amused, Solas agreed to meet them later in the tavern. Then, he wove his way around the training soldiers and closer to where Cassandra had moved to take a rest. The Seeker was glowing with a sheen of sweat, as she gulped water from a flask. 

"How goes your preparation for our journey to the Arbor Wilds?" Solas asked, joining her quietly. 

"As well as can be expected," Cassandra replied, wiping her brow. "Morrigan recently mentioned that the eluvian leads to a place known as the Crossroads." In her surprise at the news of her nomination for the next Divine, and then the siege of Adamant and the Grey Wardens' recruitment, Cassandra had all but forgotten to address Solas's unexpected use of the eluvian at Skyhold. She knew that Morrigan and the Inquisitor had discussed the ancient mirror's powers, and it was well known to the Inquisition's members that the Arbor Wilds housed the ruins of ancient Elven temples Corypheus was ransacking. "You already knew about this? About the existence of these Crossroads?"

"Yes," Solas replied. "In my journeys in the Fade, I have seen many places. Some are ancient, and not of this world. The Crossroads exist in between this world and the Fade. The ancient elves used the eluvians to travel. Many of the doors are shut, either broken or long-locked. But some may be accessed. No doubt Morrigan has already explained such things, to the best of her ability, that is."

"Morrigan has discussed it with us, yes," the Seeker said. "I was more interested in hearing from you, Solas."

"Why from me?" he asked, hands clasped behind his back.

"I have been meaning to ask you: how did you know how to use the eluvian, before? You knew how to unlock it." Her gaze was very keen. Solas was finding it more and more difficult to tacitly avoid her suspicions. She sometimes came so close to asking the exact questions that would undo him, he was beginning to wonder just how much time he had before the Seeker pieced everything together. 

"Surely it comes as no surprise that someone who has spent long years studying what he has seen in the Fade can discover a means to unlocking a mirror whose secrets even a shemlen witch can uncover," Solas said, under his mask of calm.

"I suppose not, but—please do not call us _shemlen_ , Solas." Cassandra frowned. It was not the first time she had expressed her distaste for the word. 

"I'm sorry," he said, in earnest. "I forget, sometimes. My poor manners shame me."

The Seeker took another drink of water and wiped her lips with the back of her hand, sighing. 

"Corypheus's Orb is Elven. He is scouring Elven temples. He seeks access to the Crossroads of the Ancient Elves," she reasoned impatiently."What I want to know is _how_ and _why_ did Corypheus become so interested in the Ancient Elves at all." Her dark brow furrowed in consternation. 

"Who can say?" Solas replied. "He was more than likely drawn to the power of the artifacts themselves, since he sought to enter the Fade. He must have been eager to use any means he could find to accomplish that end. Assuming, of course, that I can reasonably understand the motivations of a being who aspires to Godhood."

Cassandra frowned. 

"But what would a former Tevinter magister know about these Elven artifacts, without being a dreamer, as you are? How would Corypheus even know what to do with them? How to unlock them? We have seen no evidence of Corypheus working with dreamer mages, or even elves for that matter, until his interest in the Wilds."

"Perhaps our journey to the Arbor Wilds will provide us with answers."

"We can only hope so," said Cassandra.

"Have you given any more thought to your... nomination?" Solas asked, gently.

" _Ugh!_ " Cassandra grimaced. 

"I will take that as a no."

"I do not want to even think about it! There is nothing I can do, anyway. It is up to the Grand Clerics. It is just... the more I imagine myself as Divine, the more I _cannot_ imagine myself as Divine." She turned to Solas, suddenly. "You are coming with us, are you not?"

"To the Arbor Wilds? Yes. Inquisitor Lavellan could not afford to leave her Elven expert behind."

"I... am glad." Cassandra's gaze, once it found Solas's, softened.  

"Cassandra, I... should go. I cannot be seen spending too much of my time at Skyhold idly admiring the Seeker."

"Oh." She smiled, a little flustered. "Is that what you are doing?"

"Among other things, yes."  
  
The heat between them flared for a moment.

"Well then, you had better get back to work, apostate," Cassandra said.

"As you say, Seeker."  
  
Solas turned and took his leave, striding back toward the castle. Cassandra watched him go, allowing her gaze to linger on Solas just long enough for Cullen to glance over and see her doing so. The Commander sighed to himself, shaking his head.  

Cassandra walked back toward the soldiers, a wistful smile playing at the corners of her lips. Maker, why could she not have fallen for a Templar? There was no shortage of strapping, capable soldiers all over Skyhold. There were Knights. Lords. Nobility. But no, she had not been able to secure the sustained interest of a single one. Instead, she was sleeping with another mage. Was this a pattern, for her? She wondered.

What she and Regalyan D’Marcall had shared so many years ago was short-lived, but Cassandra had still counted him a friend afterwards. In some small ways, she supposed Solas reminded her of her first love, a little. Though, Galyan had not been nearly as accomplished in magic. He had had a knack for healing spells, yes, but he had not been a powerful battle mage and he had definitely never tried any of Solas’s more _creative_ uses of electricity, for one thing.

Yet the gentle ways Galyan had opened her eyes to friendship, and even a relationship, with a mage, of all people, had forged her into a much more open-minded, more accepting person. She and Solas had disagreed on many points regarding mage freedom. Even so, as opposed as they could be in their political leanings, Cassandra was at a point in her life where she could appreciate alternative perspectives, and so was Solas. He was measured, thoughtful in his criticisms—if a little scathing, at times. But then again, so was she, she supposed. 

Could this actually work? Or was she just a fool, wishing for more than this could ever be? 

Cassandra had long written off the possibility of making room in her life for any notion of real romance. She was often seen as too intimidating, too emasculating, for men to ever pursue in earnest. And, as Vivienne had so pointedly reminded her recently, she was not getting any younger. Instead of the winsome suitors of the female Knight Captain in Varric's book, the men Cassandra typically attracted tended to be deluded narcissists or power-hungry, grasping lords. And even if some decent, dashing nobleman had come along, she still had her work. She was the Divine's Right Hand. Much depended on her. She could not simply pack up and become someone's wife. Even the notion of that made her wrinkle her nose in disgust. 

But, surely Solas would never expect that of her. Solas understood the burden of responsibility. He accepted her on her own terms. In fact, he always had. Even if they disagreed, he never expected her to change, to suit his whims or desires. He had nothing to prove. He was... secure, in himself, as was she. She knew that they would always give each other space—room to have their own separate lives. There was something incredibly reassuring about that. 

On paper, undoubtedly an elven apostate Fade-walking freedom-loving former hermit mage was a terrible match for Cassandra. The worst, even. She was not only the Seeker, after all—she was also Nevarran royalty. She could not imagine explaining it to her family, should she ever have to. Solas was the last person she could have ever expected to sweep her off her feet. Despite that, here she was, contemplating their future. There was something about him that drove her mad. Truly. Maker. What had he done to her?

"Everything all right?" Cullen asked her, when she rejoined him. 

"Of course," said Cassandra, tersely. 

"Are you certain?" Cullen asked. "You look oddly... _happy_."


	12. Divine Intervention

“Meet me in the officer's quarters, tonight,” Cassandra said, matter-of-factly, as she and Solas walked toward the War Room, side by side.   
  
Solas swallowed. The Seeker's request was... direct. However, even with his particular attention piqued, Solas walked with his hands clasped behind his back, the picture of composure.   
  
“I regret that there are a few things I must see to, after the meeting is—”  
  
“I want you to find me in the Fade.”  
  
Cassandra’s jaw was set firmly.  
  
“Ah.” Solas tilted his head toward her subtly. To grin as recklessly as he wanted to would have betrayed altogether too much. He settled on a faint smile.  
  
“ _Tonight_ ,” Cassandra added.  
  
“All right. Even so, I must wrap up a few things, before we leave for the Arbor Wilds tomorrow.”  
  
“Surely you can do that quickly.”  
  
“I will finish everything as speedily as I can,” he promised.  
  
“Good,” she said, bestowing on him a particularly provocative glance, as she opened the door to the War Room. “I will wait for you.”  
  
Nearly everyone who was of any importance amongst the Inquisition's ranks was present, crammed tightly around the War Table. Josephine had set up extra chairs, but even then some people were crowded around the edges of the room, standing. Cassandra sat in between Leliana and Varric, across the table from Solas. Solas found himself wedged between Blackwall and Dorian, who seemed to be stifling yawns with increasing frequency, as Cullen outlined their plan of attack. If they were correct, then the location Corypheus sought in the Arbor Wilds was the Temple of Mythal. If Corypheus hoped to access the Fade by unlocking an eluvian there, then they all had cause to be concerned. The last thing Solas needed was the darkspawn magister accessing the eluvian network. Though he took a genuine interest in their strategic goals for the Arbor Wilds, Solas found his mind wandering to other matters, his anticipation mounting silently. 

Under the War Table, Cassandra's foot found Solas's. She slid her boot up the inside of his leg. Solas did nothing, for a time. Finally he shifted his hands so that they remained concealed in his lap, and, his glance betraying nothing, he twitched a fingertip by a hair's breadth, and summoned a wash of magic to caress her in a place he knew she would notice. 

The Seeker's eyes widened momentarily. She swallowed, visibly, shifting in her seat. 

Solas risked a little more.   
  
Cassandra let out a small exhale of desire, which she disguised as a cough. Leliana and Varric both turned their heads to look at her. Cassandra looked straight ahead, brow furrowed in a way that left him feeling less and less satisfied. 

*

Solas was bent over a long piece of parchment, at his desk, finishing detailed instructions for when he was away. Their meeting had run long, and it was late. He dipped his quill in a bottle of ink and continued to write, as quickly as he could. As far as any of his elven spies here knew, Solas was but an Agent of Fen'Harel, a lieutenant of sorts. He had told no one the truth of his identity. As far as they knew, orders from Solas had been passed down the chain of command from somewhere else.

The candle beside him guttered, close to death, by the time he had finished writing.

Solas would deliver this along with a false supply list to kitchens tonight, and in the morning, a city elf from Kirkwall named Ava, who ostensibly worked as a barmaid and cook here, would disseminate his plans. The network must be kept safe, at all costs. Like all of his spies, Ava was unassuming and yet invaluable. She had played an integral part in ensuring Halamshiral had gone smoothly. Solas sealed the letter with a drip of candle wax and stamped it shut with an Inquisition heraldry seal. He slipped it into his breast pocket. 

Before he delivered it, Solas wished to deal with one more concern. He was well aware that he was keeping Cassandra waiting in the officer's room, but before they left for the Arbor Wilds, he knew he must deal with the matter of the Divine’s election. His instinct to protect Cassandra was strong. He had thought on it for days. He had even considered the possibility that Cassandra really was the best choice to lead the Chantry forward. Certainly she had proven herself thus far to be astoundingly incorruptible. Her virtue and her wisdom made her a good choice, but was it a position in which she would flourish?

Solas could hardly imagine Cassandra confined to the duties of the Divine, escorted and sequestered, kept from the line of battle. If she could not stand an evening spent socializing at the Winter Palace, how would her thin patience fare when faced with endless delicate diplomatic dealings with the Chantry? A woman whose temper flared and frayed at the first signs of protracted diplomacy as quickly as the Seeker's did could hardly be suited for taking on the sage role of a religious leader. On top of that, he was certain it would make her miserable. 

Rumour had it that the First Enchanter now had her eye on the position of Divine, and that was a prospect Solas did not care to entertain. Vivienne succeeding in gaining that sort of power was the worst possible scenario. 

Solas had mulled it over, and settled on what must be done.

After blowing out the candle, Solas ascended the rotunda's gently winding stairs to the third floor rookery. He hovered for a while by the doorway, his hand on the wall at the top of the stairs. Though it was nearing midnight, the Spymaster worked, alone. She was writing hastily, bent over her desk, as Solas had been. 

“Solas, you walk so softly,” Sister Leliana said, without looking up. “Almost as though you wish to go unnoticed.” He entered the room, keeping his stride light and casual. “You’ve been standing there watching for a little while now, if I’m not mistaken.”

 “Your senses do not deceive you, Spymaster.”  
  
Leliana appraised him with a delicate eye.

“Why have you come, Solas? Do you wish to test my senses, or do you wish to speak?” 

“A little of both, I suppose.”

Solas gazed up at the caged ravens, above. 

“I see. How scandalous.”

“Well, I have known a scandal or two, in my time," said Solas, approaching her desk confidently. 

“That does not surprise me,” said Leliana, rising to greet him. “There’s a lot more to you than you let on, isn’t there, Solas? Do you care to tell me more? We could trade our most scandalous stories. Over some wine, maybe? I hear from Josie you were  _very_  fond of the champagne at the Winter Palace. We might be able to procure a bottle.”

Ah, this was why he so often avoided speaking with Leliana. She was sharp, and unpredictable. She knew how to steer a conversation subtly in her favour. She did it effortlessly. It made him nervous. Kept him on his toes.

“Another time, perhaps,” Solas said, tactfully sidestepping the topic. “For now, I wanted to discuss your candidacy for the Sunburst Throne.” Solas leaned against the stone wall near her desk, his body language languid and relaxed. He gazed out the small window at the cloudy night sky. 

“Oh, getting right to business then? I like it.” Leliana laughed. “Why this sudden interest in the Chantry’s leadership?”

 “I am concerned that you have not generated enough support.”

“Support?" Sister Nightingale's eyes narrowed. "Does that mean I have yours? I would have thought you’d endorse the Seeker.”

“Why?” Solas asked, feigning innocence. 

“You two have been spending a little more time together, no?”

Leliana came around the other side of her desk and sat on the edge of it, observing Solas as he observed her. 

“Ah. I do count her as a friend, yes.”

“ _Only_ as a friend?” Leliana asked, playfully.

Solas grew a little uncomfortable under the Nightingale's stare. 

“I see that little escapes the Inquisition’s Spymaster.” In fact, quite a lot seemed to escape her. Solas could not help but conclude that she was, in fact, a little out of her depth trying to keep the entire Inquisition under her thumb.

“I don’t need you to flatter me, Solas.” Leliana paused for a moment. Something in his expression must have hinted at the sarcasm he had privately indulged in. “Or were you  _teasing_  me?” Solas raised his brows. That was nearer to the mark. “Hm. Interesting.” She crossed her arms. "But do get to the point. I am busy.”

“Of course. My apologies. I did not mean to distract you, only to ascertain your plans. Does the position of Divine interest you? Have you given it serious thought?”

“I have thought a great deal on it. Divine Justinia was a great woman. Hers are large shoes to fill. It is not something to be taken lightly… I think the Chantry could use a change of direction, to be honest.” Solas saw the nature of her gaze change, when she spoke of Justinia.

“How would you see the Chantry change?” Solas asked her.

“The Inquisition’s support of the mage rebellion was a good start,” Leliana said, rising and pacing. “We must build on this. No more circles. The mages will be free. The Chantry will accept them as the Maker’s children. In fact, it will accept everyone. Elves, dwarves, even Qunari. Why exclude them? The Chantry allows our differences to tear us apart, instead of teaching us how we are the same.”

“What you propose might be considered… radical, by some,” Solas cautioned. “But I admire your goals. It will not be easy to change the minds of those for whom tradition is life.”

“I never said it would be  _easy_ , Solas.”

She joined him by the window, looking out for a moment from her perch, high above Skyhold.

“Corypheus has been our main concern of late, however, in my opinion you would do well to make it known a little more publicly that you want the job,” Solas advised her. “Tell Inquisitor Lavellan of your ideas. Lavellan’s support could sway the Grand Clerics. You must speak with her before Vivienne does. If you give the First Enchanter an inch, you know she will take a mile. Or more.” 

“I see your point, Solas.” Leliana pushed a stray lock of red hair behind one ear.

Solas squared his shoulders, and turned toward her directly. 

“Were rumours to leak to the Chantry that Cassandra and I were… involved, certainly that would hurt her chances of being chosen.” 

Leliana met his gaze, her expression unmoving.

“Yes,” she said, softly, betraying nothing. “I suspect it would.”

Solas went on. 

“And, should  _you_ be seriously interested in the position, that would give you an advantage, would it not? Also, if your spies in the Chantry were to catch wind of such a rumour, surely they would do nothing to stop it? They would perhaps even encourage it.” The elven mage tilted his head, waiting for her response. 

“I see.” Leliana sighed. “But  _who_ would start such rumours, Solas?” the Spymaster asked, raising her brows at last and half-smirking. 

“That remains to be seen,” Solas advised, clasping his hands in innocent repose. “Likely someone who had the Seeker’s best interests in mind. Someone who wished to… protect her.”

Leliana looked at him and laughed. The sister’s laugh had all the performed delicacy and thinly veiled darkness of a chiming tune from an Orlesian music box.

“Have you  _met_  Cassandra? She can take care of herself, Solas. She doesn’t need you to protect her.” The spymaster glanced down at the mountainous disarray of papers on her desk, her keen blue eyes suddenly thoughtful. “Still, I… do understand your concerns. I find it hard to imagine Cassandra enjoying the job.” She looked up at Solas finally, her clear eyes surprisingly honest. “I will keep this in mind.”

“Thank you, Sister Nightingale,” Solas said, moving away from the window and wall. “I… appreciate it. I will take my leave. Goodnight, Sister.” 

Solas nodded politely to her, and turned on his heel. 

“Solas?”

“Yes?” he asked, a single step from escaping to the staircase, unscathed. 

“Don’t hurt her. She’s softer than she lets on. And I keep my knives very sharp.”

Solas had to work hard to push down the guilt Leliana's words had stirred up in him, as he stopped by the kitchens, made his delivery, then turned and ventured out into the cool night, to the battlements. A few stray specks of rain fell from the night sky. The dark grass of Skyhold's lawns smelled fresh and real.  _Don't hurt her_. How could he not? Was he a monster, for letting things go this far? Perhaps he was... but try as he might to consider the idea, he could not bring himself to simply end it with Cassandra now, not when there was still time to give her what she craved, to soften the world's hard edge a little. Not with her waiting for him, in that room. As long as there was a place where what she wanted and what he wanted touched, he was powerless to pull away from it.


	13. All New, Faded For Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elfroot and chill.

Solas pushed through the door of their dim little secret room, shutting it behind him and brushing the rain from his forehead.

"Did I make you wet in the War Room?" Solas asked, darkly. 

"That is—quite the way to open a conversation," Cassandra coughed. She was sprawled on the bed, with a copy of _Hard in Hightown_ open in her lap. Cassandra had left the window open, and the wind caressed them softly. Solas sniffed the air. There was a strange, unplaceable herbal odour about. 

"What is that smell?" he asked. 

"Solas I—I _did_ something." Cassandra glanced toward the night stand, her gaze strangely lazy, even as she covered her mouth, apparently embarrassed. 

"What have you got there?" Solas asked.

"It is... elfroot."

Solas stared at her. Her pupils were dilated. Eyes red and glassy. She looked soft, relaxed. Her brow was decidedly un-furrowed, and she was stifling a lopsided smile with absolutely no success.

" _Oh._ Cassandra. You..."

The Seeker was high.

"Yes." She giggled, then stopped herself. "I _am_ Cassandra." She paused, for about ten seconds longer than she should have. "I do not even know what I was thinking, Solas. I heard that smoking it can—enhance your dreams. So I thought I should. Sometimes, I do not remember them. And I want to remember this dream, Solas..."

" _Where_ did you get this?" he asked.

"Seggrit. He sells it, on the side. No one is supposed to know, but I heard Sera talking, and I... I bought some from him, this morning. I made him swear not to tell. He thought I was there to shut down his little operation. I have never seen him so terrified. I do not think he will tell anyone. At least I hope not. Or I will have to kill him."

Solas stared at her, still in awe. He was not sure if he should be baffled, disappointed, or just impressed. Here he had just put so much calculated effort into subtly destroying her chances to ever become Divine, when it seemed Cassandra was potentially doing a fine job of that herself. Solas could hardly imagine the Chantry would be keen on choosing a woman with an Elven apostate lover and habit of being stoned off her mind on elfroot as the next Divine. 

The absurdity of this whole situation hit Solas full force, and he doubled over and laughed until his ribs hurt. 

"What is funny, Solas?" Cassandra demanded, slow to respond. "Do I sound strange? Maker. I am probably a mess."

"No," he protested, voice still high and tight with laughter, shaking his head. "You are perfect."

Cassandra smiled slowly, and stared at her hand, moving it back and forth in front of her as though she had never seen it move before. 

"At first I thought there was... time magic," she said. "Like at Redcliffe."

"Yes, your perception of time's passage is likely altered," Solas reasoned, collecting himself finally. 

"Then I was just worried that Cullen would walk in. I kept checking the door. Then I wanted _cookies_. Then I worried about Cullen again. And then you showed up."

Solas smiled. 

"I am sorry I had to keep you waiting," he said earnestly. 

"You want a joint?" Cassandra asked. "That is what they called it. A _joint_."

"So I have heard, Seeker." He had not wanted to sound  _too_ condescending, but it was too late now.

Cassandra looked surprised, as Solas took the rolled joint from her outstretched hand. "Oh. I... did not think you..." she stammered. Solas examined the elfroot and cocked an eyebrow the Seeker's way.

"We were all young once."

Cassandra reached for the matches, but Solas had no need of one.

"Allow me," he said, and summoned a pinprick of flame between his thumb and forefinger, pinching them around the end of the joint and carefully immolating the tip. He took a drag, and stood, walking to the open window to blow out a haze of smoke. He coughed. It was strong stuff. 

If someone had told Solas, back in those first days at Haven after the explosion, that in a few short months he and Seeker Pentaghast would be getting high at Skyhold and secretly fucking like teenagers, he would not have believed it for one fraction of one single second.

But, his life had grown very strange. 

Solas took a few more deep puffs and allowed it to grow a little stranger. 

He sighed pleasurably, and joined Cassandra on the bed, feeling slow and heavy.

"I am probably a fool," said Cassandra.

"We are probably all fools," Solas mused, and kissed her. Their lips and tongues were smoky, still. The unexpected combination of the fragrant pungency of elfroot mixed with the vaguely rose-like scent of Cassandra's body drove him a little wild. "Are you certain you wish to do this, in your current state?" he asked, looking her in the eye as well as he could. The world had grown a little watery.

"Yes. It is the whole reason, Solas, that I smoked it. I wanted to... to... relax. To make this work better. The Fade is... look. For you it is easy, but for me. I—I needed some... some..."

"Chemical assistance?"

"Yes. That is it."

“Come here. Close your eyes.” He guided her down beside him so that they were both laying flat on the soft bed, and she settled her head onto his chest comfortably. Above them, through the room's small window, they could see the raining sky. 

“Just relax,” said Solas. He ran his fingers through her short black hair, and hummed something soft and beautiful. His voice was low, gentle. He murmured the tune near her ear, his voice caressing her to sleep. Cassandra could not make out the words. This was some Elven song, she supposed. It sounded, somehow, very old, though she did not know how she could possibly know that. Before long, she felt her eyes grow heavy.

His fingertips moved in circles over her scalp, enticing her to relax, to sink against him.  
  
She allowed herself to let go.

A soft blackness enveloped her, as she succumbed to the honey envelope of his voice and his touch.

Solas traced a seldom-used glyph over her sleeping body, and sealed it inside her, a secret that would lay within her heart. His heart. _Vhenan._ He closed his eyes and sank into the pillow beside her, eager to join her in sleep.

 

*

 

Cassandra's dream was a familiar one. She was back at the ball, in Halamshiral. That night had haunted her in the tenderest way. It seemed now, that instead of the churning, gossiping crowd that had filled these halls, the palace was now empty. She was its sole inhabitant. Music played, but there were no musicians present. Cassandra walked across the floor, her footfalls echoing in the emptiness of the vast ballroom. She wandered through the space, in no hurry, simply taking in the sights. She did not feel the heady slow rush of the elfroot, as she had when she had drifted off. Instead she felt fully aware, as if she was conscious. Her surroundings popped to life in detail and vividness of colour that she did not usually enjoy in her dreams. Apparently the rumours about elfroot were correct, on this count at least. 

Instead of the Inquisition's standard issue formalwear, Cassandra wore a garment that did not exist in waking life. It was not a dress, but a coldly glittering leather and dragon scale ensemble that fit her like a glove. The shoulders came to sharp pauldron-like peaks, and the middle plunged to a daring V, exposing more skin than she usually did, and yet still leaving room for the imagination to wander from the slope of her shoulders down to the tightly cinched leather waist. Her jewelry was simple: a silverite choker in the shape of an undulating serpent fit around the graceful column of her neck. Her boots were thigh high, dark dragon scale and leather, with a subtle heel. 

She caught sight of herself in a window. She cut a powerful, yet feminine silhouette. 

Cassandra moved through the Hall of Heroes to the window of the guest wing, the one where Solas had stood for much of the evening, when they had attended the event. 

The air here seemed to thrum with magic. Flecks of silver dust were caught in a shaft of moonlight that spilled in from the gallery window. They stood still in the air, as if frozen in time. That was strange. 

It was eerily quiet. 

Cassandra looked again at the window, and out into the deserted garden.

In the window's reflection of the guest wing, she thought she saw a vague shape move behind her. She turned quickly, but there was no one there.

Cassandra walked further down the long wing, her pulse beating fast now.

Farther down the hall, she heard faint whispering. The servants, perhaps?

Her pace quickened, each boot strike glancing off the floor loudly as she strode toward the rooms that lay to the left of the wing.   
  
She followed the sound of whispering through the palace until it led her in a circle, back to the entrance to the kitchens. Behind the wooden door, she could hear a muffled conversation. Was that Solas's voice? 

Cassandra reached for the handle to the door, but remembered that she needed the key. She reached into the side pocket of her outfit and found the key inside. 

She unlocked the door.

When she swung it open, the whispering stopped abruptly. Cassandra was not standing in the kitchens, however. The room she had opened was a different one altogether. It was empty of people, like the rest of the palace, but it was filled with ornate furniture, bookshelves, and—eluvians. There were at least ten or twelve that she could count upon first glance. And what was more, as Cassandra stepped into the room and glanced upwards she saw that the room extended upwards and outwards as if it folded in and out of itself, the mirrors reflecting up as down and down as up. And not only the mirrors... but the rooms themselves seemed to exist in a different state of gravity. A couch and chairs and throw rug sat quite still above her, on the ceiling, as though it were the floor. None of it made any sense. It was as though physics itself had been altered.

Cassandra wandered into the room. 

The nearest eluvian was activated, already. She could see faintly through to the other side, but what lay beyond was clouded, uncertain. She stepped closer. All she could see beyond the glass was a shifting darkness, like a dusky cloud unfurling. As she drew closer, transfixed by it, she began to see that in the darkness there was something —no, several somethings— aglow, perhaps red lyrium or small flames lit against the blurred, pitch dark path that lay on the other side. Where did that path lead?  Curious, she reached out her hand to cross through the mirror's surface...

Solas touched her shoulder, making her jump.

"Seeker. I did not expect to find you _here_."

Solas's eyes were wide, his gaze sharp.

"What is this place?" Cassandra asked.

"Your dream," Solas answered. "Of the Winter Palace, it would seem."

Solas stood close to her, looking up at the impossible unfolding sideways and upside-down rooms of eluvians with an expression she could not categorize. He wore his usual robes.

"But what is... this? Are these all _active_  eluvians?"

"The Fade can allow for many things to change, as your unconscious mind wills them to do so. It would seem you have... altered this area of the dream," he said, his jaw tense.

"Are you sure this is only  _my_ dream, Solas?" she asked, puzzled. 

"Of course. You fell asleep first. And this is where I've found you."

"But, I have never seen anything like this before," Cassandra mused, reaching once more for the mirror's surface. Solas tugged her arm back, gently, gathering her hands in his, before she could touch the eluvian. 

"No," he warned. "We should be cautious here. Let us find somewhere more suitable, Cassandra..."

All at once he willed it all away and replaced their entire surroundings with his own guest bedroom, at the chateau. 

Instead of Veilfire, the hearth roared with sweet-smelling red orange flame. There were small candles dotted about the room, on every free surface, lighting it rather romantically. Beyond the delicate shift of the Orlesian window's gossamer curtain was the city under a full moon, and a clear starry sky. 

They had been distracted, pulled apart so many times at Skyhold by their responsibilities, that seeing this room again was a blessing. Cassandra no longer felt the unsettling quiet of the Winter Palace. This room seemed somehow realer to her, perhaps because its existence here in their minds was fuelled by both of their vivid memories and wishes. Solas too was clothed in something she had never seen him wear—heavy fur and leather, all supple and tight around him.

“Do you come here often, in your dreams, Cassandra?” Solas asked warmly, bringing her into his deep, careful embrace. They stood by the warmth of the fire, near the foot of the bed. 

“I think about it all the time,” she whispered into his neck. It was such sweetness, to be held by him.

“I know, Seeker…”

He tipped her chin up and kissed her. His mouth tasted of elfroot and burnt sugar.

As they kissed, Cassandra felt him grow hard against her in a span of seconds. At Skyhold, after their shared night in Halamshiral, Solas had not initiated physical contact at all, and that had made Cassandra wonder if he was just uninterested. It was only in the last few weeks that she had learned that it took only the subtlest physical contact to rouse Solas into a state of urgent desire. He had admitted to her that it had been a long time, since he had been with a woman. Based on their first night together, she would not have believed it, if it were not for seeing again and again how the smallest touch was enough to fill him with lust. Maker, she had only to brush her fingers against his to put him in the mood. She could understand why he had not been more demonstrative: for Solas, to invite her touch was to invite a powerful, uncomfortable need. She could tell it hurt his pride a little.

Cassandra went to her knees and nuzzled into his hip bone, touching him as she peeled back his breeches. She heard his breath quicken and sharpen.

At last, Solas was fully unsheathed before her. A single syrupy drop of pre-cum beaded at the cleft of his swollen, pink tip. She leaned forward and let the full shape of him sink inside her mouth as she knelt on the floor.

Feeling the impressive fullness of his cock in her mouth made her wetter.

She began to move in earnest, sliding him a little deeper.

She moaned in surprise as he palmed the back of her head, sliding himself inside fully. He was so thick that the forward thrust forced her mouth to widen to accommodate him, and she choked slightly as her airway was filled and her tonsils pressed against. 

She heard Solas inhaled sharply as he sheathed himself firmly in her throat, still holding her head in place with a firmness that made her as eager to please him as she had ever been.

She looked up through watering eyes to meet his gaze. For a few long moments he merely held her there, looking at the sight of her taking him all in.  
  
“Enough?” he asked.

She nodded, and he slid out of her mouth. She gasped, catching her breath. The exquisite surrender of it was all that she could have hoped for. 

“Again?” she breathed.  
  
“Please,” he whispered.  
  
He slid inside her deeply again.  
  
“Good?” he asked. She nodded.  
  
Once more she felt the pressure of his palm and fingers on her scalp as he placed his hand back on the back of her head firmly, and sank all the way inside.

He did this many times, unhurried. Careful to let her breathe, when she had to. Cassandra felt herself growing obscenely wet.

Solas took her hands and raised her to her feet. He backed her up against the bed and she grinned when he paused to kiss her neck before bending her back, forcing her down onto the covers.   
  
Solas climbed onto the bed and levered his body over her, holding her wrists gently, and pressed her back into the feather bed. He slid the length of himself inside her mouth again. She was pinned under his weight, her throat stuffed full.

Solas slid in and out of her mouth at his own pace. Sometimes pinning her hands down. Sometimes errantly tracing his fingers over her breasts, or her hips, between her legs, watching goosebumps spread under his touch. She was naked under him. She realized that her clothes had mysteriously vanished from her at some point, except for the silverite choker. Solas's doing, no doubt. Had he simply liked the jewelry? Over and over, he held her head firmly in place, by a fistful of her hair, waiting for her resistance, so he could hold himself inside her mouth for just a little too long, pulling out just as she first convulsed, allowing her respite before he did it all again. Soothing her. Sliding back in, quickly. Waiting. Releasing. Pinning. Releasing. Holding. Releasing. Holding a little longer. Relaxing, again, inside her. Cassandra's mouth was raw. 

“There, that is a good start, is it not?” Solas asked, after a time.

“It has been… over an hour, surely…” Cassandra said, her throat hoarse.

“Had enough?” he teased. 

“You are… seriously asking me that?” She wiped the corners of her eyes.

“Can you endure it?” he challenged. 

“ _Solas_ ,” she moaned, rolling back against the silk sheets. She was so wet for him. “I cannot wait any more. I need you.”

“In what _way_ do you need me, Cassandra?” he teased, sitting beside her on the bed.

She opened her legs, touching herself. He watched her as she slid her fingers easily over the slick pink wetness of her body.

“Hmm, let me see," Solas said, softly. He moved between her legs and leaned there, sitting, spreading her thighs to each side of him.“ _This_ will not take long,” he said. 

He ran the knuckle of his curled index finger over the swollen, wet bead of her… simply extending his finger slightly to rub against her most sensitive area slowly, gently. She tensed instantly at his feathery touch. 

“Relax,” he instructed, and pressed his tongue against her aching clit, licking firmly. He glanced upward as he did so, meeting her gaze as his tongue slid over her.   
  
Solas was right. It did not take long.

Cassandra struggled against the suddenness of the pleasure--she was so close already--and Solas pinned her with magic, lest she squirm away. Just as she thought one more stroke of his tongue would bring her the release she sought, Solas stopped. She bucked upwards, seeking his touch. "Solas... no, don't stop..."

Solas, having primed her with more familiar pleasures, apparently deemed her ready for more creative stimulation. 

Warping energies around her easily, he bent her dream once more to his will. 

Cassandra found herself quickly tied down to the bed—her wrists and ankles spread to its four corners by bondage crafted of pure magic. She gasped, testing the strength of the bonds. They held.  
  
"Is that to your liking?" Solas asked, softly. Maker be damned if his voice wasn't made of melted fucking chocolate.   
  
Cassandra nodded, feeling light-headed, flushed with lust. He had brought her so close.

"Say the word and they will drop," he reminded her. The reminder was unnecessary, but she appreciated the care he took to make her feel safe.

"Why would I want them to?" she asked, darkly.

"You never know, Seeker. You might feel... _overwhelmed_."

Without touching her, he merely allowed his hand to hover a few inches over her body, as he vibrated the energies of the Fade against her, quaking the air intricately. Cassandra gasped at the foreign sensation, arching her back, muscles tight with pleasure as he oscillated and folded the energy into her body in ways she had never considered possible. Her eyes widened, and Solas loomed over her, confident, his eyes dark with desire. 

Cassandra could tell that her inexperience was part of what made this appealing to him. Novelty roused his interest, and while she did not normally consider herself particularly adventurous in bed, with Solas she was willing to go places she had never dared to think possible.

“Solas…” she begged, her eyes pleading with him, cunt dripping, still invisibly stimulated. "What... are you...?"

"As I said. Easier in the Fade."

She closed her eyes against the rush of new sensation, her breath nearly choking in her throat. Solas eased up on the magical pressure, then increased it slowly, sometimes simply stopping to let her laboured breaths slow, only to start up again with little teasing strokes of energy. The powerful need for her release was all she could think about.

“Are you all right, Seeker?” he asked, still so polite. Damn him. And so calm. 

She moaned raggedly, frustrated that he was not actually touching her, not providing the shattering release she knew him capable of. 

“How much—longer—” She gasped, and gritted her teeth. 

“I _could_ do this all night, Seeker… and I believe I will,” he added, darkly, a wicked smile playing at his lips.

Cassandra screwed her eyes shut, focusing on breathing.

Solas took nothing by force. Instead he soothed, lulled, calmed, and teased Cassandra into submission, until she was nothing but tremulous wanting.

She supposed she should not be surprised that Solas's approach to bondage was proving to be subtle and complex. He had no interest in inflicting real pain, only in comfortably restraining her against any attempt to speed along what he clearly preferred to be a thoughtful, infinitely slow process of arousal that he carefully controlled. If his goal was her orgasm, then he was doing everything in his power to hold that card close.

With outstretched fingers, he stretched and pulled two cold strings of magic taut across her most sensitive parts, squeezing them in around her clit. She felt it forced out of its hood, and gasped at the sensation. Then she felt the scalding hot prod of a single, concentrated press of energy, in the very centre of her throbbing clit. Subtle electricity teased at her nipples, at her lips. She was left gasping, clenching, writhing in the most desperate throes of arousal. 

Solas's free hand had found the dripping mess that lay between her trembling thighs. 

Slowly, gently, he brought her up and down in intricate, detailed waves of pleasure, but he would not let her finish.

She looked up at his sinfully beautiful face, as he took in the sights and sounds of her prolonged arousal. It seemed that it was more than enough to keep him hard.

Cassandra soon learned that, in this game, Solas rewarded only her relaxation and silence. Until she could master that, she would never earn release.

When she grunted or fought against the bindings, eager to reach her climax, he pulled away and soothed her quietly back into relaxation. He ran waves of soft, attentive energy over her, even as he pressed his lips to her temple and started to whisper the dirtiest things to her…Things she had never dreamed of hearing come out of the mage's mouth.

“Do you want my cock in your ass, Cassandra?" Solas asked, with the air of a man casually dropping a bomb.

One moment ago he had been all pleasantries and now this was the filth coming out of his mouth? Oh. _Solas_. Just when Cassandra thought she was already blushing as hard as she could, driven as close as she could get to the edge, she felt herself sink one shade deeper into madness. 

"Do you want my solid cock to break you open? Do you want me to take the rest of you? _Claim_ it? Mm?" She nodded. "Well, you can’t. You can’t have it, Cassandra."

He finally slipped two fingers up inside her pussy. She thought she might die of pleasure, as he did so. 

“Do you think I should take what you have yet to give a man, and make it mine? Would you let me break it in? Wear it out? _Ruin_ it? Is that what you want?” Oh, Maker. His voice had dropped to a low gravel, thick with desire. “Would you take it well? Take it like a good girl? Yes?” Cassandra whined, nodding. 

"Yes. _Fuck_ , yes. Solas. Please."

Maker, she was throbbing for it.

He only smiled.

“Shh. Shh. Relax. Just relax for me…" She brought herself down to a panting, stilled mess, no longer straining against the bonds like a chained dragon. "There, that’s good. That’s a good girl. Taking my fingers like that. Yes. Can you take three fingers? Mm. Relax. Yes. Good. Good, Cassandra…” Solas hooked her with three fingers now, all thrumming with slick magic. “You are so _tight_ , Cassandra. And wet." His fingers curled inside her, and she whimpered. " _Good._ Imagine these fingers in your second hole. Do you want me to finger you there? Can you endure that?" She was nodding now, desperate. " _All_ right, but not yet. Not yet. _Relax_ …”

He fit four fingers inside her. Slowly working his way up.

She bucked against him, moaning, until he calmed her once more.

Five. Somehow. His thumb entered her carefully, and she stretched around his hand.

Cassandra couldn't help but try to slide his hand deeper, try to force him to fuck her as she needed, badly, to be fucked.

After what felt like hours or days, that whole masculine hand, up to his wrist, was embedded in her dripping, throbbing body.

“Mm. Is this mine, Cassandra? Is this all mine?” Solas asked, gently, deeply, flexing his long fingers inside her, probing her with magic and fingertips and knuckles all at once.

“Yes—” Her voice hitched in longing. She was going to _cry_. “It is yours, Solas.”

Solas continued to tease her with suggestions, denying her until she was only whimpering and begging him for it...

“ _Good_. Good girl. Taking it so well." He paused, letting her writhe against him. "Yes. I know you want to come.” She nodded, groaning, delirious. She was simply sick with need for him. “Mhmm. _I know_ , Cassandra. I _know_ you want to _come_ for me…" Her eyes pleaded with him, even as her vision blurred. Every time he said the word 'come' she felt a jolt inside her. "Not yet," he said, and she growled. He shushed her. "Shh… First, you’re going to let me take your ass, aren’t you? Yes? Yes. Good…”

She had just begun to doubt if he would ever fulfil that particularly dirty promise, but, as if he could sense the absolute limits of her desperation, Solas delivered.

Lifting her bound legs with magic, he slid his hands along the undersides of her tensed thighs as though he owned them.

Then he opened her ass with the hot, dripping fingers that had been wedged inside her cunt. She was so weak with desire that she could only open for him. Then he removed his fingers from that tight ring of muscle and replaced them with the presence of magic. Cassandra felt magic opening her, sliding up inside her wet, trembling ass.

Still, his voice soothed her, murmuring Elvish now... words she could not understand... but somehow she caught the gist. He was willing her to allow him all of her. He was willing her, so gently, to let go. 

Slowly, and with deliberate precision, the shape inside her asshole grew, widening within to fill her, to penetrate her more fully. A hot, tingling stab of it. She felt fresh sweat breaking out on her brow. As his magic filled her to near discomfort, Solas moved his other hand to fist her again. His alternate hand finally rubbed her clit. These three sensations at once—fisting her deep and hard, fucking her ass with magic, and circling her clit with the firm, soft pads of his fingers— _one_ would have finished her. Three was sweet violence. 

"Oooohhhfuckfuck-- _Solas, AAAH!_ " she screamed. Actually _screamed._  She was done. Powerless to escape. Without the bonds holding her there, there was no way she could have endured it.  Cassandra had never known such senseless, relentless pleasure. Her body was no longer hers. She was trapped for an age in the precarious place between wanting to beg him to stop and wanting it never to end. It was so intense, it felt she had been cheated out of an orgasm and sent straight to a mindless place beyond pain, pleasure, or control.

"Relax... relax," Solas said, and she balked.

He had the audacity to tell her to— _relax_? _Now_? Fuck him. _Fuck_ him. She screamed again. 

" _Relax_." 

His voice was firm, forceful. Cassandra recognized the utterance for what it was--a _command._

Where did Solas store all of this unfettered confidence? What gave him the right to shatter her  heart and her mind into oblivion, to tether her to the sound of his voice?

Even as he ordered her relaxation he rubbed her clit harder and pulled the bonds tighter to force her legs up and apart. It was too much. Too hard. Maker, he must know he was going to  _destroy_  her like this.

She let out a series of visceral shrieks, her body rigid and covered in gooseflesh, seizing up against the pain of overstimulation.

"Are you going to _ask_?" he said, without a drop of mercy.

He wanted her to ask for it. Oh Maker, she wanted to give him what he wanted. 

"Can I—can I—" she gasped, suddenly, between screams. Of course this had been the key to release all along. He _knew_ she got off on his praise. And she knew he got off on getting her off. But she had not realized just _how much_ until now. 

"Can I come?" she managed to gasp out.

"You may." He eased the pressure to a gentle crest. "You may,  _Vhenan_."

She gave in to an orgasm so incredible it bled seamlessly into the next, and the next, in waves of shuddering, inhuman bliss. At some point she realized vaguely that he was only gently palming her clit now, teasing the last of it out of her lazily as he whispered sweet affirmations in her ear. 

She felt the bonds disappear. She was left only the bedspread to clutch at, as she quivered, out of her mind with pleasure. The sheets under her were soaked through with a spreading patch of her wetness. 

It was in this moment that Solas grabbed her by the hips, turned her over onto her belly, lifted her ass, and entered her slick, tight cunt, slamming himself into her with animalistic force. She groaned out a shuddering cry that only seemed to encourage him. His hands were everywhere. On her breasts, her hips... He gripped the back of her neck tightly, his fingernails pressing in even as the hard metal of the choker bit into her flesh. 

Behind her, his usually honeyed voice was low and wild with desire.

Andraste help her, why did he only ever want to take her when she was utterly spent? It was as if he patiently wore her down only for the purpose of sating his desire to fuck her in the exact moment when she was already senseless and broken for him. 

The act was distinctly predatory. He rutted over her, grasping her roughly by the hair, until she was coming again under him like a raw nerve. He slid back out and this time, slick with her juices, pressed himself very carefully into the rim of her ass instead. She sobbed out the fiery pulse of her pleasure as he pulled her back onto it and sank into her ass fully, grunting. He wrapped an arm around her waist and forced her back onto his cock with both gripping hands. His thickness filled her better than any magic could. 

Cassandra was a _mess_.

"Maker, fuck me... _fuck_ me..." she begged him, on fire with desire as he merely held her there. 

"Cassandra..."

"Harder! Yes!"

"Are you sure?"

" _Yes_ , you fucking— _asshole_. You smug piece of _shit—_ just _fuck me_." She was shocked at her own words. Even so, he didn't seem to mind. If anything, he liked it. 

Solas chuckled darkly, and bore down into her, slamming her into the bed with such force that she actually bounced back up to meet his powerful strokes. He pumped in and out of her hard. He had found the perfect angle.

"You like that?" he asked, his voice wound tight with desire. Finally betraying his own desperation. Fuck. He was behind her, and she wanted to see him finish. She needed it, after this wild ride. 

"I want to see you come," she said, plainly. 

He pulled out of her at once, wincing, hissing his near-fulfillment. The ragged desperation on his face was enough to let Cassandra know this was going to be good.

"Finish it. Finish yourself," she ordered. 

Solas obeyed, moving to lean back against the pillows, his thighs spread apart. He took himself in his own hand and jerked his thick shaft. If she knew one thing, it was that Solas did not need her praise, nor her permission in bed. No. What he wanted was a firmer hand. For a man who valued his freedom, Solas was certainly quick to respond to commands.

"Good," said Cassandra, maintaining eye contact as she moved closer to him. She ran her fingers over his lips as he pleasured himself.

He tipped his head back and moaned. A moan from Solas was guaranteed to be hot, but this sound was _obscene_.   
  
Oh, he was getting so close.

"Faster," she said, encouraged by the way he was clearly coming apart. 

Solas obeyed and shut his eyes, brows twitching, body and voice shuddering. She pressed her fingers into his open mouth, reaching between his teeth.

" _Faster._ " 

Solas let out a mighty groan, nearly rubbing himself raw. Cassandra held his chin in her hand, forcefully, and tugged on his ear with her teeth. 

" _Cassandra._.." he pleaded, voice high with need. She knew what he was waiting for. 

He opened his eyes and stared into hers with the sweetest look of unabashed desire, so close, and yet still waiting for her. Eyes wide and round. 

She slapped him across the cheek, once, hard. 

"Good. Now come."

He spilled out everywhere. As he did, she pinched his ears and smothered him in her hands and mouth. His face was so fucking beautiful she almost wanted to crush it. Solas didn't fight her, didn't try to move her hands away, didn't try for any shred of dignity, he just whimpered and came. The sound coming out of him was Cassandra's new favourite sound. 

 

 *

 

“Sleep well?” Solas asked her, the next morning, as they dressed. 

“That was incredible. I have never done anything like that before. On a number of levels. Solas, you are...very— _kinky_.” His ears looked pinker than usual. In fact his whole face had a healthy flush. " _How_ did you know I would... also like such things?" she demanded. 

He laughed softly. 

“I admit, it was not until I heard that you were a fan of Varric’s more… scandalous reading material, that it ever occurred to me you might be interested in _such things_ , Seeker.”

That stopped her dead in her tracks, midway through pulling on her boot. 

“How—how did you know about that! Does _Varric_ know?” Cassandra searched his eyes, embarrassed. 

“Not that I am aware of. I have known for a long while. Cole had some rather odd questions for me, when we first arrived at Skyhold. He revealed your secret, I'm afraid. Naturally, I found the prospect rather interesting.” Solas gave her a self-satisfied look.

“Oh, I see," said Cassandra, blushing. "So. You liked to think of me, like that? Even then?”

“It was fodder for the imagination, I will admit.”

Ugh, the idea of him knowing that about her, every time he looked at her. Every time they had been around one another. Well before they had slept together. Maker. It was terrible and delicious.

“Are you sure you don't disapprove of my reading choices?” she pressed.

“No, on the contrary, I applaud them," said Solas, tightening the laces on his foot wraps." _Swords and Shields_ is actually not as bad as one would assume.”

There was a moment of silence, as that sank in.

“Have you… Solas, have you read them!” 

She stared at him, amazed. 

“I may have perused a copy or two," the mage said, dismissively. "The servants leave Varric’s books lying around all over Skyhold, after all…”

“Oh, Solas…” She covered her mouth, legitimately giggling, and shaking her head. It was too much. 

“Oh, is that really so amusing?” Solas asked, seriously. “I have often been curious about other… cultures.”

Cassandra rose and buckled her belt.

“Next you are going to tell me that all of those obscure books you made us order from Orlais are actually tomes of ancient Elvhen sex positions.”

“Not _all_ of them…” he protested. 

Cassandra shot him a playfully disapproving glance. 

"Solas, you _slut_."

He responded to that in the exact way she had hoped: speechless, a single heavy exhalation, his pupils shocked open, wide and dark, as they had before he'd come, last night. Oh. She was onto him, now. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The palace's secret eluvian network that Cassandra dreams of is largely inspired by this actual weird ass unused level thing you can find in the game:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=57Bdv5RcPrU&t=233s  
> :) :) :)


	14. What Pride Had Wrought

During their march on the Arbor Wilds, Cullen and Ellana shared a tent. There was no use denying what everyone already knew. The Commander and the Inquisitor were open enough about their ongoing romance. Cullen looked up and saw the Seeker and Solas walking side by side. He had been watching them out here in the field, as he had on their journey to the Wilds. Whenever they made camp, the mage and the Seeker parted, going their separate ways. Tonight was no different. 

Cullen pushed through the flap of his and Ellana's tent one evening, sighing.

"I know something is still going on between them. I _know_ it."

"Between who, Cully?"

Ellana was curled halfway under their blankets, her long auburn hair spilling over the shoulders of her silk nightdress.

"Cassandra and... _Solas_." Cullen took off his jacket and plopped down beside her, heavily.

"Well of course there is. He's quite smitten with her, Cullen. He said he loved her at Adamant, in Elvish."

Cullen's brow furrowed. 

"He... he _what_?"

"He was... badly injured. I don't think he knew he was saying it aloud, so I didn't mention anything. He's so private. So is she, for that matter. I figured I should stay out of it. Being the Inquisitor, and all. Best to let them sort it out."

"He _loves_ her? He _said_ that?"

"I thought it was obvious enough," Ellana said, casually. "He's been making puppy dog eyes at her since the Winter Palace."

"I find it hard to imagine Solas making 'puppy dog eyes' at anyone..." Cullen shook his head.

"Why? You make puppy dog eyes at me."

"I do not."

"Why do you care so much, darling?" Ellana asked, propping herself up with one elbow. Cullen sighed. That the Commander of the Inquisition's forces could find real turmoil in the possible love affairs of his friends only made him all the more endearing to Ellana. 

"Cassandra told me that they... slept together," Cullen admitted. "At the Winter Palace. She said it was only once. But, I've seen the way she looks at him, Ellana. I just don't want to see her get her heart broken. For all her sternness, she's a hopeless romantic. And she doesn't know a _thing_ about men. She'd believe anything, from the right man. And some men are... not to be believed."

"And what, you think Solas would just hit it and quit it? He wasn't raised by _wolves_ , Cullen," the Dalish mage insisted. "My hahren's got class."

"Must you call him that? It always sounds so... so... dirty."

Ellana narrowed her eyes. They had had this discussion before.

"It's an _honorific._ "

"Even so..."

"I don't think of him that way, Cullen. Get that out of your curly shem head."

"Are you _sure_?"

" _Yes_ , you jealous creature. He's at least twice my age. He's my teacher, Cullen. He's like... my favourite uncle, or something. Who else do I have to ask about all the weird rift mage stuff? Not _everything_ is a kinky little role-play, Commander."

"So now it's Commander, is it?" asked Cullen, looking down at her a little imperiously.

"Since titles are so important to you..."

Cullen bent down and kissed her, deeply. She made a soft sound of protest, as he suddenly pulled away, still distracted.

"But if they _are_ still together. If he loves her. It's been weeks and weeks since Adamant. We've been out here and not once have I seen him go to her tent, or her to his. Maker knows I've kept watch. Surely no man has that level of self-control..."

"Cullen," Ellana said, looking up into his eyes with a naughty smile. "You don't think they're... doing it in the Fade? Do you?"

 

 *

 

In the dream, Cassandra was back in the Temple of Mythal. Where there had been clear, cool water in the lower ruins, there was instead an excess of steamy bathwater. Everything smelled of lavender and enchanted soaps.   
  
Cassandra slipped out of her clothing and into the hot, soothing water. She leaned her arms over the edge and relaxed, resting her head in the crook of her arm and closing her eyes lazily.  
  
Behind her, Cassandra heard the lapping of water, and felt the warm exhale of breath on the back of her neck, but she did not need to open her eyes to know that it was Solas who approached and placed his hands gently on her shoulders.  
  
"Mmm..." she let a moan escape, as Solas's strong hands massaged her back and neck. She relaxed easily under his diligent touch.  
  
Opening her eyes finally, she turned to pull him into her embrace.

Cassandra gasped and recoiled.

It wasn't Solas. It was... _Abelas_. The sentinel elf. And that was... a _lot_ of elf. 

"Expecting someone else?" Abelas asked, his voice as crisp and erudite as she remembered. He was stark naked. His pale skin was covered in Mythal's vallaslin. He was taller than her by a head, and broad shouldered, an arcane warrior whose abdomen was a tight expanse of rippling muscle, and whose thighs seemed cut from granite. Without his hood on, Cassandra could now see his long silver hair, which spilled over his shoulders like a river of snow.

"I—I was..."

"No need to worry, Cassandra. I just came here to relax. The same as you." The temple guardian moved back and sat, easily, on the bath's graduated steps, his hips now underneath the water, finally concealing his manhood, which mercifully spared Cassandra the need to determinedly avert her eyes. He draped one muscled arm over the edge of the tub with the easy grace of a panther.

"Though, perhaps you could return the favour?" He rubbed one of his shoulders, suggestively. Every movement he made was achingly sexual, every twist of his body offering a show of masculine perfection that Cassandra could only drink in, stunned.

Maker have Mercy. The Fade was getting stranger and stranger, even without elfroot.

From the swathes of steam around them, Solas emerged, quiet and wrapped in a towel. His walk was as relaxed as ever, the saunter Cassandra had come to love. She was not sure how she was going to explain her way out of this particular dream. Solas did not bat an eyelash at what he found. He merely removed his towel and entered the water, sitting beside Abelas, who observed him placidly, with eyes of amber-gold.

"Solas..." 

"Hush, Cassandra," Solas said, softly. "There is no need to explain."

To her fascination and utter horror, Solas moved closer to Abelas, and began to work his careful fingers into the other elf's shoulders. Abelas sighed, apparently content.

“You should know the ancient elves did not see much distinction between men and women, when it came to love and sex," Solas told her, as he worked his fingertips into the meat of Abelas's shoulders. Then he ran his hands lower, sliding them over the taller elf's wet, soapy torso in a way that made Cassandra clench.

"Pleasure is simply pleasure," Solas crooned. "Wouldn’t you agree, Cassandra?”

Abelas twisted and reached for Solas, and the two slick, wet elven bodies embraced, exchanging a brief but unabashedly sensual kiss.

Cassandra covered her face and promptly turned bright pink.

“Solas," she said, her mouth dry. "Is this your dream or mine?”

Solas's laugh was full of mirth.

“What do you think, Cassandra?” he asked. 

"Please tell me that is not... not _really_ Abelas."

"A desire demon, I suspect," said Solas, calmly. "A very... _foolish_  desire demon."

"Oh, you're no fun," the demon huffed, still wearing Abelas's skin. Cassandra backed away, by a step. 

"Tempting the Seeker? Do you have a death wish?" Solas asked harshly, looking up into his eyes without a hint of fear. The demon recoiled a little. Something about Solas made it shiver and bristle.

"If you let me live... I'll never bother you again."

"Promise?" Solas asked, darkly.

"I promise."

"What do you say, Cassandra? Mercy?" asked Solas.

"No. It is a demon, Solas. Kill it. Be done with it." She wished she had her sword on hand, but alas, all three of them were rather... exposed. She settled for pressing her Seeker's will against the air around them, exerting a force she was sure it would not warm to. 

"No! Hear me out!"

Cassandra glared, tightening her grip on the magic in the air.

"It rarely hurts to listen," Solas said.

"Yes! After all, I did you no harm," the demon pleaded, in Abelas's voice.

"None yet," Solas said. "But _would_ you have? Had I not intervened?"

The demon seemed eager to change tactics.

"You _know_ ," he said, making eyes at both Solas and Cassandra. "I can grant you any number of pleasures, for your time. I'm not picky. Two for the price of one. What say you?"

"Ah. I'm afraid we are not interested in cutting deals," Solas said.

"Do you not fear me at all?" the demon asked, careful to give Solas a wide berth. "You are uncommonly _bold_ , mage."

"Experience will do that." Solas sighed. "I merely know which fights are worth picking, and which are not."

"Be _gone_ ," Cassandra urged the creature. "Get _out_ of my head. Or I will boil your _blood_ until you _burst._ "

The demon waited curiously, catching Cassandra's gaze.

"You heard the woman," Solas said, his tone effortlessly commanding. "I'm afraid that was not hyperbole."

The desire demon hissed, cowered, and backed off.

"As you wish." The demon snapped Abelas's fingers, and vanished from sight, in an implosion of darkness that seemed to rip into and then seal the seam of Cassandra's dream.

"Ah, there we go," said Solas, as if they had swatted away a large insect. "Some privacy at last."

Cassandra blinked, staring at the place where Abelas had been a moment before.

"Why did you spare it?" she asked, glancing at Solas uneasily.

"Why not? It posed no real threat. I have dealt with much worse. It seemed a waste of energy to kill it."

Solas already looked more than ready to luxuriate in the tub.

"Can we agree to... to pretend that did not just happen?" Cassandra asked, finally, collecting her wits.

Solas waded to her and pressed the length of his warm, wet body against hers until her rear end was backed up against the confines of the bath. 

"If that would help you to enjoy yourself, Cassandra." Solas kissed her, deep and long, and she melted into his familiar embrace and the silken warmth of the water.

 

*

 

It was early evening, at Skyhold. After thwarting Corypheus's plan to use the Well of Sorrows, they had returned from the Arbor Wilds through the eluvian. The events at the temple were weeks behind them. Morrigan now had whatever wisdom was bestowed by the Well of Sorrows, but also the burden of service to Mythal, whatever that would prove to be... None of them were particularly happy with the prospect of granting Morrigan this mysterious power, but having the Inquisitor forced into the service of an ancient Elven god was also not something they wished for, Solas perhaps least of all. He had cautioned Lavellan against it, and ultimately she had heeded his advice.  
  
Cullen had been particularly thankful. He had even made a point of speaking with Solas about it, though the conversation had been brief and decidedly awkward. 

This evening, Solas and Cassandra had the rare chance to dine together in the main hall. Word had gotten out that it was Dorian's birthday. The Tevinter mage had grown popular, around Skyhold, and it seemed nearly everyone was packed into the Herald's Rest to celebrate. Cullen had even let people off duty early, to enjoy themselves. Solas and Cassandra had seized the opportunity for a private dinner. Neither of them was terribly fond of raucous parties. From where they were in Skyhold's main hall, they could hear the distant din from the pub, but the usually bustling hall was calm.

"It's quiet," said Solas, glancing at the empty foyer around them. "I like it." 

He took a sip from a large glass of red wine. He sat across from her at the banquet table, legs crossed at the knee. 

"Cheers," said Cassandra, holding out her own wine glass. Solas tipped his carefully against hers.

"Cheers," he said, and they each took a sip.

For someone who had spent years living alone, Solas was an uncommonly refined diner. He ate with a serviette folded neatly across his lap, and wielded all manner of cutlery without pause. 

Solas sipped his wine and leaned back in his seat, comfortably.

“So. That dream you had.  _Abelas._  You are growing fond of elves, Cassandra,” he quipped.

Cassandra kicked him, under the table.

“Shut up," she said, through her embarrassed smile. 

"Cassandra, I won't stand for this mistreatment. I  _will_  have to inform the Inquisitor that the Seeker is wantonly _beating_  me."

"No, you won't."

"So confident, Seeker?"

"If you told on me, that would mean I would have to stop." She eyed him, over the brim of her wine glass. "And we both know you don't want that."

"Ah. That _is_ true." He paused, eyes twinkling. "You show a wisdom I have n—."

"Ugh."

She rolled her eyes, cutting off the 'One Time, In The Fade' speech before he could finish. It was a running joke between them, now. Solas would try to fit in a Fade story wherever possible, and Cassandra would make a disgusted noise and pointedly talk over him until he relented. (She had also, more than once, resorted to smothering him with a pillow.)

" _Surely_  it cannot really surprise you to know that you are not the  _only_  one who catches my eye," she said, matter-of-factly.

"And when did I ever claim to be?"

Cassandra sighed.

"You did not need to say it. Your... swagger says it all."

" _My_ swagger?" Solas looked rather amused at the suggestion. "Surely you must be confusing me with Dorian." 

"You do have one. It's subtle. But you do." 

Solas did not argue with her. He instead went straight for dessert.

They sat in easy, companionable silence for a time. 

They so rarely had the chance to do something so... normal. Cassandra was delighted. Well, as delighted as she could be, considering they all knew they would have to face Corypheus again, sooner or later. 

"Thrilling, is it not?" Cassandra mused, taking a generous gulp of wine.

"What is?" Solas asked, wiping his mouth daintily with a napkin.

"That we have time to do this." She looked around, as if suspicious. "It is almost... a _date_."

Solas chuckled softly.

"Given our current circumstances, since the night of our shared dance, there has been little time to court you, Seeker."

Then, as if inspired, the mage teased his hand through the air and brought the cold candles between them to life with a breath of fire. Cassandra looked into Solas's eyes, and saw the candle flames reflected there, sparkling gold points against the liquid grey of his irises. Cassandra was hardly able to stop herself from smiling broadly. It was strange to think that there had once been a time when she had not thought him attractive, not even properly noticed him, except to think him aloof and arrogant. Solas's charms were the kind that only grew with time. The more she saw of Solas, the more she wanted to see. 

"I should take you to Val Royeux," Cassandra suggested. 

"I would like that," Solas admitted. "Though, it would have precious little to offer us in the way of defeating Corypheus."

"After Corypheus, then."

She looked him in the eye. 

"After?" Solas echoed. 

They had never spoken of such things, before. It had always seemed so far off. Cassandra felt Solas's mood shift, like an unseen tide.

"Cassandra," Solas said, his tone dropping to a more serious one. She wondered at the sudden change in his voice. "I _have_ been... trying to determine a way to show you what you mean to me." Solas looked down at his hands, fiddling with his sleeve. Maker. Why was he so nervous?

"That is not necessary Solas. You are my..."

Cassandra faltered, going silent and flushed.

"Extra training dummy?" he offered.

The Seeker scoffed, laughing.

"No," she said. Maker. Why had she suddenly choked? Was it so difficult to say it? Certainly, he must know... 

" _Vhenan,_ " Solas said. She had never known a man to say a term of endearment with such tenderness. The word fell off his lips like a prayer. He did not use it often. Almost never in public. It was as though he saved them up, as if he only had a limited supply to shower her with. Cassandra never seemed able to prepare for it. It always took her by surprise. "Would you consider meeting me, in the gardens, later tonight? At, say, ten o'clock? I have been meaning to discuss something with you."

"Oh? Of course," she replied. "But why all the formality, Solas?"

"I... Manners, perhaps? I only wish to..." He trailed off, as Mother Giselle was approaching the table.

"Seeker Pentaghast, hello. I have just spoken with a representative from the College of Clerics. May I have a word with you?" Cassandra glanced up, annoyed at the sudden intrusion on a private moment. "In private?" Giselle added, looking briefly toward Solas.

Cassandra's jaw tightened, a little.

"Surely anything you need to say to me, you can say in front of Solas."

"I humbly apologize, but I am afraid that the matter to be discussed... _involves_ Solas."

Solas cleared his throat. 

"I _am_ right here," he said, stiffly. "Or perhaps you merely thought me deaf and mute."

There was an awkward silence. Cassandra blinked. Had Solas just sassed Mother Giselle?

"Well?" Cassandra crossed her arms, looking up at Giselle. " _What is it_." 

"I meant no offence to either of you," the chantry Mother said, deferential. "It really is a matter best discussed in private, Seeker. Please trust me in this."

"All right." Cassandra straightened, rubbing the back of her neck with one gloved hand. "Excuse me, Solas. I must deal with this."

"I understand. Later tonight, then?" the mage asked, catching her eye subtly. Damn him, in the soft candlelight, he was beautiful.

"Yes. At ten. I will wait for you." Cassandra shot Solas a quick, apologetic smile, and strode down the hall with Mother Giselle.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no excuse for that bath scene... XD


	15. About the Spy Thing

Solas had come to the third floor of the Herald's Rest, a place he had found safety in many times before. He and Cole sat a ways apart from one another, Cole on a barrel in one corner of the room and Solas in the other corner, seated on a wooden crate. They looked like a pair of lonely towers at one end of an empty chess board.

Solas was many things to many people. To most of Skyhold's denizens he remained a fixture of esoteric wisdom and practical advice; a polite, if somewhat eccentric elf whose reputation fixed him as dignified, clever, and perhaps a little unforgiving, when pushed. Not even Cassandra had seen the full gamut of Solas, though she had seen more than most. Only Cole was privy to what Solas saw _himself_ as — and tonight it was as a sad, scared, perpetual fuckup who was losing his nerve in the face of an impossible choice.

 This was the calm before the storm. 

The two of them had been sitting there in perfect silence for fifteen minutes, Solas chewing his thumb nail, before Cole spoke.

"You still have the stone," Cole told him. "Raw amethyst, scarred and sharp. Unpolished, _beautiful_ , exactly as it is. You've kept it in your pocket, since the sparkling caves, under the lake at Crestwood." Solas swallowed. "You saw nugs together there, and laughed, and that was when you started to know. You think of her, when you hold it. You like to hold it, when no one can see. It's a reminder: she's _real_ , your rock... relying, on each other. You thought of giving the stone to her, but instead you keep it hidden away. Another secret. She _would_ like it, Solas."

Solas stared out at nothing. He was eons away, mulling over two possible eternities. 

What was he to Cassandra? Equal parts comfort and danger, perhaps. But that was not going to be enough. He had made up his mind. This had gone too far. Tonight he had to tell her the truth, or he had to end it. She was going to find out what he truly was, either way. After Corypheus, she would know. He could not pretend that he was content to be the man she thought he was; the better, simpler man he found himself half believing he really could be.

The noise of chatter and laughter from Dorian's birthday party below wafted up through the floorboards and the opening of the tavern's staircase. 

On the other side of the room, Cole clenched his jaw and sighed.

"Sorry," the spirit boy said. "Usually your hurt is hard to hear, but tonight it's _loud_."

"I apologize for disturbing you, Cole."

Cole blinked at him, tilting his head up so that Solas could see the top half of his face instead of just a mouth under a hat.

Solas searched the pale, probing pools of Cole’s eyes for some sign that he would bring him the relief he sought.

"You don't disturb me, Solas," Cole assured him. "You do disturb Sera, though."

Solas _almost_ smiled. 

“I understand. You want Cassandra to choose happiness, and not a throne. To choose  _you_ , because it would mean that maybe you could choose her too. To show her that she could let go, feel light, lit, loved. That letting in didn’t have to be _losing_. Didn’t have to be possession, like with a demon. You showed her that, but now... it hurts you." Cole's brows knit together for a moment. "You  _could_  make each other happy, Solas."

“For a _time_ , yes." Solas felt anguish twist in him. He thought for a moment that he could have punched the wall. "But there would be consequences."

“Yes,” Cole reasoned. “There are always consequences. Which ones are worse?”

Solas had no answer, yet.

"You could talk to other people, Solas. Downstairs, they're light, limber, laughing. You're not a burden. Sometimes people _like_ to listen."

Cole was giving him an encouraging look. Solas turned away from him and sighed. 

"Perhaps I will join the others, while there is time," Solas decided, steeling himself against the pull of melancholy. There was still over an hour until he had to meet with Cassandra in the gardens. He jumped down lightly off of the crate. Cole was right: there was at least a handful of time left for Solas to enjoy tonight before he would have to see it all shatter around him.

Cole met him in the middle of the room.

"Solas." Cole reached out and touched his arm. Strange, thought Solas, to be touched by a spirit made corporeal. "They're not gone so long as you remember them."

Cole cut through the swathes of pain and doubt with startling ease, finding the tenderest bits to prod. Compassion could be cruel, thought Solas. 

"I know," Solas replied gently. 

Cole suddenly wrapped his arms around Solas's middle. The mage tensed in surprise. Leaning against him and bumping his hat into Solas's cheek awkwardly, Cole patted the spot between Solas’s shoulder blades. It was a clunky and oddly maternal gesture.

“ _Cole_ … what…” 

“It’s a hug, Solas," Cole explained. "Varric does hugging, when people are sad." Solas tried to ignore the sudden prickling of his eyes and the tightness of his throat. He gave Cole a quick squeeze back, before they let go of one another.  
  
Solas sniffed once, covering his nose briefly and trying to pass off the unbidden swell of emotion. Simple compassion, offered freely, was one of a shrinking number of things that could manage, with any reliability, to move Solas to tears.

"Was it bad?" Cole asked. "I thought it might help. I can't hug your mind. I know you'd like that better.”

“No, I— _thank_ _you_ , Cole.”

 *

 

The plan was to make a quick appearance, wish Dorian well, and be off. Solas made his way in silence down the stairs from the third floor. The second floor of the tavern was crammed full with members of the Inquisition in varying states of drunken revelry. Beyond a cloud of pipe smoke, a few chummy soldiers threw darts at a board on which a crude rendering of Corypheus had been pinned. Though this raging party had been thrown on his behalf, Dorian was passed out in the corner of the room, face down on the table, with drool puddling on his silk sleeve. A gaudy flower crown balanced precariously on his resting head. He was surrounded by a varied array of empty glasses, and... Scout Harding. She was quietly nursing what appeared to be a glass of whiskey on the rocks. Solas merely raised an eyebrow as he passed, heading down the next set of steps to the ground floor. 

He was caught entirely unprepared when his unassuming descent to the crowded first floor of the Herald's Rest was met with a series of turned heads and an enormous, raucous cheer from the Chargers, so loud it drowned out the bard temporarily. Uncomfortable with being the centre of such attention, Solas froze mid-step and felt the tips of his ears go crimson. 

Iron Bull welcomed him, in what could only be described as a joyful and clearly drunken roar, as he opened his bulky arms wide for Solas in a gesture that looked like an invitation into a bear hug that Solas did not want. Solas considered shunning this in favour of turning his heel and fleeing back up the stairs to Cole, along with whatever was left of his dignity these days, but it seemed it was too late. Sera snagged his sleeve, and before he could escape he was already being ushered to a seat at the Chargers' table, where he was promptly clapped on the shoulders, winked at, quietly hailed as 'the one who showed boss who's boss', and ultimately brought an overflowing flagon of golden ale, and some sort of pink concoction with a tiny umbrella in it. 

"Thought you'd never take us up on that offer," Krem said fondly. 

Though it was not yet nine o'clock, Skyhold had been starved for celebration and the party had was already at its zenith. During a natural lull in conversation, Bull's good eye had flicked, as it was wont to do, toward one of the elven barmaids, who was standing on a stool behind the bar, reaching around the top shelf for some obscure bottle of spirits, no doubt. She was bent at an intriguing angle, and in the moment, following Bull's gaze innocently enough, Solas found himself staring at the perky and attractive rear end of a slim young woman whom he realized a second too late was his own spy, Ava.  
  
All things considered, Solas had to admit she did have a wonderful ass. 

“Hey. Wut we lookin’ at?” Sera asked, turning her chair backwards toward the momentarily transfixed pair.

“That,” said Bull, indicating the elf's bobbing bottom with a nod of his chin.   
  
“Hoo, right. Yeah. I can see why we’re lookin’ at that," said Sera, grinning. The three of them were transfixed in unison for a moment. "Hahaha...  _Solas_ though." Sera hiccupped. "Elfy. Are you really lookin’ too?” Sera had a face that could have been downright sweet, if it was not always sneering clownishly or wrinkling in outrage. Right now it was giving Solas a familiar disbelieving look.

“Is that so surprising?” Solas asked, tired and perplexed at the all too common assumption that he would think himself above such things.

“Just never thought you’d be an ass man, that’s all," Sera explained, taking a sip of Solas's drink.

“What? Solas?” Bull rolled his eyes. “Of _course_ Solas is an ass man! Look at him.”

Sera looked, but remained unconvinced. 

“Uhh, no way,” the city elf protested, scrunching her features. 

“Solas,” said Bull, turning to him. “Come on. _Are_ you an ass man?”

Bull's voice was so loud it carried over the din of the party, and several of the chargers, as well as the various soldiers, smiths, and merchants who had come to celebrate, turned their heads toward Solas and Bull, suddenly interested in knowing the answer. 

Solas could see no escape in sight.

“I—don’t see the point in this line of questioning…” 

“See!” Bull slammed his ale down on the table. “He _totally_ is!”

Krem laughed aloud. Sera was instantly on the defensive. 

“Kay, fine. Fine then. Come on, Solas,” Sera said, pushing him in a new direction now. “What gets you going? What dirty little fantasies have you got in that weird Fade-walking brain of yours? You’ve got to get up to some weeeird shit in the Fade, right?”

Solas sighed. He felt old. Too old for this.

“I see no reason for you to need to know about any of my… _sex fantasies_.”

“So you _do_ have sex fantasies,” Bull said, stroking his chin thoughtfully. Solas felt a heat in Bull's gaze then that made him decidedly uncomfortable. 

“I am—an _adult_ , so yes, I do. And to answer your next question:  _no_ , they don't involve you, Iron Bull.”

Bull looked a little crestfallen. Interesting.

“Solas. Solas. Solas,” Sera pestered, poking his arm incessantly. “You need to settle this for me and Blackwall. Where _is_ Blackwall? Think he's getting more drinks. Whatever. Kay. Solas. Do you shout ‘Elven Glory’ when you come?” There were scattered titters from amongst the people seated closest to them. 

Solas stared at her.

“No! Is that _really_ what you—”

“Did I hear you prying into Solas’s sex life?”

Solas looked up. And then... down. That could only be the voice of Varric Tethras. The dwarven rogue edged his way through the throng of partiers who had gathered around Maryden and her mandolin, with Blackwall at his side. Both men carried pitchers of ale. Varric settled himself in between Sera and Krem, and wasted no time in refilling glasses. “And did Chuckles actually _answer_ you? This, I have to hear.”

“So far we’ve determined Solas is an ass man,” Krem informed him helpfully. Blackwall barked out a good-natured laugh, shaking his head, as he settled in alongside Sera.

Varric coughed, nearly spilling the ale as he refilled Krem's empty stein. 

“ _Right_ ,” said the dwarf, skeptical. 

“ _See_?” Sera said to Bull. “He’s not!”

“Come on,” Varric laughed, dismissively. “How many asses do you think he’s actually _manned_? And Fade ladies don’t count, Solas.” Laughter erupted from the gathered group around them, the chargers and soldiers whistling and chuckling, swigging back ale. There was scattered clapping. Solas bristled, aware that he was under some scrutiny. Despite the pettiness, he disliked the notion of Varric underestimating his sexual prowess on a visceral level.

“What are you _implying_?” Solas challenged, eyes narrowing in Varric's direction. A little bit of a hush fell around him, then. It was not often that the elven rift mage graced the tavern with his presence, and it seemed that many were now hanging on his words, eager to gauge his reaction.

“Oh shit,” said Sera, quietly. “You made him mad. He’s gonna go all fireballs now…”

“Wait. Wait a second,” Iron Bull said, as though he was taking it upon himself to keep order in this very drunk, impromptu court of sexual confusion. “Now, Solas _did_ share that dance with the Seeker. Back at the Winter Palace. And that's more action than _you’ve_ ever gotten with Cassandra, Varric...”

“More _action_?” Varric repeated, incredulous. “I—”

“And I’m afraid getting chained up and interrogated by her doesn’t count, Master Tethras,” Solas goaded, silkily. Raucous laughter, twice the volume of the last, erupted. Someone actually cheered. The Chargers were loving this. Varric, for his part, took an exceptionally long gulp of ale, wiping his mouth with his sleeve and looking a bit strained. 

“Oooh, is Varric _jealous_?” Sera teased, clearly thrilled at the idea. "Shiiit. Varric's _jealous_."

“Now, now.” Varric raised his palms in his defence. “Do I have to spell it out for you guys? Getting thrown in chains and clobbered by Cassandra is not my idea of a romantic night, but if that’s your thing, Solas—you go for it. She’s all yours.”

 _Oooooh_ , went the crowd. 

Solas felt his cheeks burning. 

“That is _not_ what I said…”

Sera dissolved into a fit of giggles that drowned out all else.

“Hahahaha, you two nutters know Cassandra doesn’t wear underwear, right?”

At that exact moment, Cullen, who had been walking by in innocent conversation, turned to them and looked extremely disturbed. 

“Oh, Maker’s _balls_ ,” Blackwall blurted, covering his face with one hand. “Did you _really_ have to tell us that?”

“What?" Sera asked. "It’s true!”

“Do I even want to know how you know that, Buttercup?” Varric asked, looking perhaps a little too calculating upon hearing this information than Solas would have liked. 

“This was not intended to be a public discussion of— _nevermind_.” Solas sighed, crossing his arms. 

Thankfully, the next moment, someone was doing the public service of announcing that Cullen had agreed to go in for a round of 'strip' Wicked Grace and at least a third of the group was moving to crowd around the other side of the pub to watch, including Varric, Sera, Krem, and Blackwall, who was mostly dragged. The conversations around them were spreading to the nearby tables instead, and Bull and Solas remained, side by side, drinking in amiable silence. Bull set his enormous beer stein down and sighed a wet, foamy sigh.

“Solas,” Bull said, tracing his thick finger around the mouth of his beer stein. “You know the elven serving girl. The brunette with the nice ass…”

“Ava?” Solas asked, looking up to see if she was nearby. She wasn't. 

“Yeah. Ava. Have you ever… _you know_?” Solas looked back at Bull with a smooth, appraising glance. “Have you ever felt the pull of her… abyss? Opened her Fade rift? Stonefisted her… yeah. You know what I mean.”

Solas huffed.  

“No. I have not.”

“Really? I've seen you two chatting. Thought she might be into you."

“She’s a servant,” said Solas. “It wouldn’t be appropriate.”

“Shit, Solas. How could you pass up that opportunity though? She’s… well, she’s a firecracker." Bull lowered his voice to a discrete level. "Before Dorian and I… you know, got together, I… tapped that.”

“Indeed,” said Solas mildly.

“She knows how to do this thing with her tongue that's just...  _Ahh._ It’s too bad about the spy thing.”

A small muscle that twitched in his jaw was the only thing that might have given away Solas's sudden flutter of panic.  
  
Bull had not loosed this information in a way that suggested he was attempting to incriminate Solas… He had merely said 'spy'. Not even many other agents of Fen'Harel knew that Ava was Solas's contact. _Some_ knew, yes, but they were trusted. Even so— _how_? How could Iron Bull of all people know she was actually one of his spies? No one in the Inner Circle had even caught wind of his agent's identities. Solas had taken precautions. He had been exceedingly careful.

“You have reason to believe she’s a _spy_?” Solas asked the Qunari, setting down his ale and feigning innocent surprise, careful not to overdo it. Solas realized quickly that sidestepping Leliana's probing questions did not even hold a candle to the mental stress of deceiving the Iron Bull at close range. Even so, Solas gathered calm and strength in the face of the challenge. His attention had suddenly snapped into sharp focus. 

“Oh yeah. Big time. I may be Tal Vashoth now, but I know a Ben-Hassrath agent when I see one.”

 _Ben-Hassrath_?  
  
That was not possible.

Still, Solas knew better than to doubt the Iron Bull's observations...

Solas's mind, like a tense machine, hurtled forward to any number of possible conclusions. His face, however, remained mild and curious. 

“How can you be certain she’s Ben-Hassrath, specifically?” Solas asked the Iron Bull. He sipped his ale cautiously, giving himself an excuse to hide behind something if only for a moment. 

“There are a few tells," said Bull, his voice remained low and cautious, a candid stage whisper for Solas's ears only. Solas had to lean in slightly to hear him clearly over the partiers. "Ask her to tie something up for you some time. She ties a running bowline knot _exactly_ the way they do on a Dreadnaught. Also, she curses in Qunlat if you get her past a certain point.” Bull smiled, darkly. 

“Mm. The breadth of your interrogation tactics impresses me, Iron Bull," said Solas, not untruthfully. Dorian's birthday party at the Herald's Rest was the last place he expected to uncover a crack in his spy network, but there it was. Iron Bull was a more valuable friend to Solas than he knew. 

“What can I say, Solas?" the Qunari said, leaning back confidently. "I’ve just got impressive _breadth_.”

Solas twitched his mouth into a quick smile. 

“Does anyone know?” Solas asked.

“Nahh. Not by name, anyway. I let Red know about the general chance of Ben-Hassrath assassins, and I said I'd let her know if anything seemed like it was a problem. Mostly they’re harmless. Collect some pointless information, then leave. Break a few hearts when they go. Doesn't really worry me.  _Pretty_ sure she knows I could take her, if she tried to knife me.”

“Let us hope it does not come to that.” Solas sipped his ale, serene and sympathetic. Anyone who heard him would have thought the idea of the young elf's violent end was abhorrent to him on principle. But they would have been wrong.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: this chapter got some serious edits on 8/4/2018.


	16. Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yeah so, Solas is having a rough night...

Solas was quick about tying up his conversation with Bull. He could waste no time in dealing with Ava. If Bull was right about her, then Solas had only retribution in mind. 

Anyone betraying Solas for their own gain was bound to lose at that game.

Though he had great sympathy for those born under the Qun, he had considerably less for anyone who would voluntarily choose to follow it; less still for anyone sacrificing his efforts to benefit it. If Ava really was working for the Qunari, then all of his work over the past two years, in securing his base of operations, the access to the eluvians, the network of trusted contacts...  _all_  of it could all be undone. His people's chance at freedom could be snuffed out by one reckless woman, and by his own failure to detect her ulterior motives.

Solas was reminded of Felassan, tonight.

Felassan's betrayal had stung. He had been a friend, and Solas had made sure his death was a painless mercy, over in an instant. It didn't change the fact that Solas still had to live with himself after. It had been another necessary sin in a long line of necessary sins. Another weight to carry. Solas tried not to dwell on Felassan.

If there was any chance Ava had unlocked the eluvians to the Qunari, there was only one way this was going to end for her, tonight.

It was easy enough to stalk her in the crowded pub, to find the right moment to summon her from her duties at the bar, with a whisper of speaking elsewhere. In an hour's span she was following Solas through the twilight to Skyhold's eluvian.

He unlocked it, and they passed through to the Crossroads, as they had before. Solas suspected tonight was going to have a messy end, and he preferred that mess to stay well away from Skyhold and the suspicions of the Inquisition.

Ava was well-connected and well-liked; she had done good work for Solas, but she was young and overconfident, too reliant on flattery and flirtation to woo people to do what she wished. Solas had thought he had her all figured out, but he could see that he had been remiss. Months ago, she had offered him what he had needed most at Skyhold, and it had been too good to pass up. Ava was a field marshall and a smokescreen all in one: someone who could pull the strings for him while he planned and instructed, hidden from view. She was competent. Perhaps a little too competent. 

Solas walked alongside the young elf, listening as she complained about the boisterous patrons at the Herald's Rest. When he had first recruited her, she had seemed content to take his offer of steady coin, even if she was dismayed at his lack of interest in bedding her. She was obviously attractive, and that was useful to him, but Solas did not typically mix business with pleasure. Before that first night with Cassandra, at the Winter Palace, he had been more or less celibate. He had been _focused_. He had been at least a little bit less of a fool.  
  
Despite Solas's disinterest, Ava had flirted persistently. Solas's gentle rebukes seemed to only make him more enticing to her. She was, after all, a woman accustomed to getting what she wanted...   
  
Solas thought of what Iron Bull had said, in the pub. _Firecracker_ , was it? How old was she, anyway? Had he ever bothered to ask? Twenty-five? Twenty-six?  
  
He reminded himself that he had a handful of drinks muddying his thoughts, and refocused. 

What was Ava thinking now, Solas wondered, as they strolled the Crossroads, speaking of the night's trivialities. She was reasonably clever. Had she suspected that Solas might know the truth now? He waited to see the inevitable change in her eyes, once she worried of walking willingly into this trap, but she seemed at ease. Solas even began to wonder if Bull had somehow been mistaken. 

"It would be a shame," said Solas finally, once he had her smiling and twirling a lock of her long dark hair around one finger. 

"What would be a shame?" she asked, striding along beside him as they passed by rows of broken eluvians. 

"If I were to discover that one of our own spies, one of my trusted allies at Skyhold, was loyal to the Qun."

He waited, but she didn't even break her stride.

"What's this about, Solas?" she asked him, tossing her glossy hair over one shoulder and smiling, as if this was all a game for her. As if this was fun. Something very like hatred flared in Solas, then.

"You are from Kirkwall, are you not?" Solas asked, lightly.

"I am."

Solas stopped walking and turned to her, placing one hand gently on her forearm. He looked at Ava sharply. Her heavily-lashed eyes were a pretty shade of green. Solas waited.

"After the uprising there, many elves converted to the Qun."

 _Qun._  
  
She glanced downward, breaking eye contact. 

There it was. The look he had waited to see. 

"Solas..." she began, awkwardly, faltering for the first time. 

"What did they offer you in return for my secrets?" he pressed. He grasped her arm tighter. "Was it worth your freedom? Was it--"

Solas dodged the brunt of the attack but only saw her knife after it had clipped across his cheek, drawing blood, missing his jugular, where she had been aiming. He blurred away from Ava, fade-stepping to safety in a torrent of powerful cold magic.

A flurry of small, deadly sharp throwing knives awaited him, thrown with furious speed and precision. With rift magic, he warped their trajectory, but the first two snagged in his chest. Merely a distraction. Solas had already cast flame, torching the ground at Ava's feet. He smelled the burning. She screamed.

Solas went for her, chasing her down, but she was fast, and in the scuffle she broke a glass bottle at her feet. Black, acrid smoke leaked out, billowing quickly, and she disappeared from his view for a moment only to re-emerge at his back, carving two blades across the cloth of his shoulders and chest, even as he twisted and caught her by the forearm. He meant to freeze her in place with a surge of ice, but he succeeded only in freezing one arm, as she pulled away and faded into the thick black smoke.

Solas coughed, covering his mouth as he whirled around, trying to find her, and trying to draw a clean breath. While many of the eluvians were broken, there were some that were still active. Some that he had shown her. She could very well have made for one of them. Solas cursed and cast fire desperately, in a circle around him, trying to torch anything still near enough to incinerate. He was lost in the opaque swathes of smoke. If he did not find her soon, she could be in Halamshiral in five minutes. She could be  _anywhere in Thedas._

It occurred to Solas that he was going to need to breathe soon. He tried to dispel the black smoke for a second time, but it resisted his spell. He choked on the air, doubling over as he breathed in the smoke from his own flames and the other, thicker gas.  _Where was she?_

Solas stumbled, choking as he tried to stay upright. He summoned the mana to Fade step as far as he could, and finally breached the spreading dark smoke, taking in a gasping breath and leaning against the trunk of a tree. He knew he had wasted precious moments... where  _was_  she? His eyes scanned the Crossroads for her, but, in the dissipating smoke, he saw no sign of anyone.  
  
Coughing still, he hurled a fireball into the distance.  
  
She knew better than to face him down in single combat. Her only option, really, had been to stage an escape.  
  
If he had only been faster. If he had only anticipated...

Solas's knuckles collided with the trunk of the tree, and he felt his skin split open in a welcome rush of pain.

*

The noxious dark smoke from the bottle Ava broke had burnt Solas's lungs when he'd inhaled it, and left his throat prickling with pain. The delicate blades that he pulled carefully from his chest had been laced with poison and something else that left him numb and dizzy, until he dispelled it. Sweat beaded on his forehead. He had managed to singe his feet and the hem of his cloak with his own fire, crumbling the edge to ashes. His back and chest were covered in long, shallow cuts. The entire back of his tunic was sliced open, and there was a place right under his left shoulder blade where the rogue had cut him deep and torn something meaty and important. The knuckles of his right hand were bloody and split.

He took note of the damage, and sat down on the broken tiles below him, leaning against the cracked edge of a shallow fountain. The misted-over surfaces of the ruined eluvians around him served as yet another reminder of all that his people had lost. 

Here, in the Crossroads, it was silent. There was no wind to rustle the ancient trees. Only an eternal stillness. Here, hours passed by like nothing. Skyhold seemed to exist only in another life, far away. Solas sat, for a time, breathing deeply, before he remembered that there was something he was supposed to do. What was it, again? Solas wondered, listening to the sweet sound of nothing, thinking of what it could be, but not really caring if he never remembered. 

Of course.  _Cassandra_. She was waiting for him. Quickly, he summoned wind to blow the charred, black ash away from his feet and watched as it dispersed.

*

It was nearing half past one in the morning by the time Solas stumbled into Skyhold's dark gardens, bleeding, sweating, and over three hours late. He straightened up and fastened his cloak about him, so that the worst wounds, the ones on his back, were concealed. In his rush to return, there had been no time to waste on healing them. 

Solas found Cassandra sitting on a bench in the gardens, shivering. The sight of her still waiting there made his heart sink. 

As expected, Cassandra descended on him like a storm.

"Where were you?" she demanded, rising and stalking over to him. It was cold enough now that her breath made clouds in the air as she spoke. Her lips looked slightly purple. Mythal's blessing, why had she not simply gone back inside the castle? She was clearly freezing. "You smell like cigars and that piss-water Cabot passes off as ale," she derided, scrunching her nose at Solas.

"I decided to stop by Dorian's party. I lost track of time. I'm so sorry. It—"

"Is that _blood_ , on your cheek?" Cassandra asked. Solas had all but forgotten about the state of his face. He reached up and touched the still-fresh cut. His fingertips came away stained red.

"Yes," he admitted. "I had something of a... brawl."

 _Technically_ true. Solas swallowed. Cassandra's brow furrowed as she examined his wounded face with a warrior's unsympathetic eye. 

She backed away and shook her head in fuming disbelief.

"So. You are telling me that you left me waiting for over three hours in the cold in the middle of the night because _you_ got yourself into some sort of... _bar room knife fight_...?"

The Seeker's gaze was hard. Solas sighed, glancing away.

"Not... _exactly_ ," he said.

"Who _are_ you, even? Sometimes I wonder, Solas..."

Cassandra paced the yard, in a taut silence.

"I... " Solas trailed off. "How did your earlier conversation go, with Mother Giselle?" he asked, hoping perhaps that she would find some solace in the fact that her name would no longer be bandied around for the position of Divine, and that she could be eased into a more magnanimous mood.

"How did my conversation go? _How did my conversation go!?"_ Cassandra shook her head. "Oh, you will  _love_ this! Get ready for this. They know about us, Solas. They _know_."

_Oh._

Cassandra was angry about it.

Why was she _angry_ about it?  
  
"Who?" Solas asked cautiously.

"Oh. Only every chantry sister in Thedas, apparently! Mother Giselle heard it from someone who came in from Val Royeux, who heard it from some sister in Jader. In Jader, Solas. Now tell me how Chantry sisters from Jader to Val Royeux, that no one here even talks to, know that the Right Hand of the Divine is sleeping with an elven apostate!" Cassandra cried. "Does the First Enchanter have demons in the Fade who spy on us and do her bidding? Should I wake Vivienne up right now and ask her?!"

"Seeker, please—you're going to wake half of Skyhold, if you keep shouting like—"

"And why should I care! Good! Soon everyone will know everything about us, anyway!" The Seeker ranted. "Let them hear this too!"

Solas felt the armored push of her power rise in the air, like a wall around her. It surprised him. 

"Cassandra, it's not—"

" _No._ Don't try to _placate_ me. My chances are ruined, Solas. I am a disgrace. There's even a rumor that I'm hiding a _pregnancy_. Do I really look like I could be pregnant?"

Solas thought the question to be entirely rhetorical, since it was clearly ridiculous, but realized too late that Cassandra was judging his ongoing silence as contemplative.

"No," he assured her, altogether too late. She glared at him with a special kind of disapproval now.

"How could this happen, Solas? _How_?"

Solas held his head in his hands for a moment. What had he done? This had all been a gross miscalculation... Solas had thought long on the possibility of confessing to her tonight, but not to  _this_. This chantry business, he had thought, would be minor, compared to the truth of his... well, of everything. 

"It was me, Cassandra," he said, finally.

Cassandra stared at him.

" _What_ was you, Solas?"

Solas licked his lower lip.

"I started the rumour that you and I were... intimate."

Cassandra pivoted toward him as though she meant to punch him in the face.

"And _why_ , in the name of _Andraste_ , would you— _do_ _that_."

The Seeker's eyes were hot black embers.

"It was a mistake," Solas said, softly. "I thought you did not want to be Divine. I thought that the rumours would... take the pressure off of you. That you would be pleased, because, with luck, your name would be removed from consideration. I was wrong. And I am sorry, Cassandra."

"Why didn't you just _ask_ me!" she exploded.

"I _did_ ask you," Solas offered. "You never gave me a straight answer."

Cassandra guffawed, shaking her head.

"I have been accused of many things, Solas, but indecision has never been one of them!"

"Well, there's a first time for everything," Solas muttered, regretting instantly how coldly sarcastic this had come out. The thing was, Solas  _knew_ he was right. She _had_ been waffling, procrastinating. For once she really had not known what to do. And yet, she couldn't admit it. 

"You should have told me what you were doing!" The Seeker poked an accusing finger into Solas' chest and jabbed it right into a concealed cut. Solas winced.

" _Why?_ " he asked her, his temper rising now. "So you could _stop_ me?" he mocked. 

"Yes!"

"What if I didn't want you to stop me!" Solas said, surprised at the volume of his voice. "Did that _occur_ to you, Seeker?"

She stared at him for a moment, and he realized she had never seen him get angry. 

 _Fenedhis._ This was a quarrel, now.  

"So, this isn't really about what I wanted at all!" Cassandra retorted. "It's about what _you_ wanted."

The two of them circled each other, alone in the torch-lit garden. The grass nearest to Solas glowed briefly orange and curled black, burnt in a sudden wash of heat that emanated from him like a hot spring.

"Is it so _wrong_ of me to want you to be happy? Cassandra, the Sunburst throne would be a burden—"

"A burden I would be _honoured_ to bear! A sacrifice I owe—"

"You've already given your life thus far to the service of the Chantry. You do not _owe_ them anything!"

"Did you think I would be thankful to you for making decisions on my behalf?" Cassandra asked, incredulous. "Is that what you expected? What I owe the Chantry is up to me, Solas. Though _clearly_ I owe you something, you... foolish, arrogant, _deceptive_..."

"Yes?" Solas challenged. They stared each other down, the air between them crackling with magic. "What is it you think you owe me?"

Cassandra stepped threateningly close.

"I don't know, Solas. The proper punishment eludes me. I _would_ gag you, tie you to the _war table_ , and have you publicly _flogged_ , but on some level I am sure you would probably _like_ it." 

Cassandra's eyes reflected moonlight, flashing silver-bright against the shifting darkness of the windy gardens. Even in anger, perhaps especially in anger, she was achingly beautiful.

Solas breathed in deeply, chest rising and falling. It took every ounce of will he had to push down the part of him that was now deeply, hungrily aroused by her. That she would say such a thing to him. Her ferocity. Her will. Solas stilled himself carefully, calming himself just enough so as to ensure he not to lose control and immolate himself.

It was a precarious thing, to be caught between rage and desire. Mastering the moment at last, he allowed the hardness of his gaze to match hers.

"For all your wisdom, Cassandra, you still walk through this world with your eyes half closed.  _Look_ at the Chantry. It's an institution founded on lies!" he hissed.

"Oh? And I suppose _you_ know better? _You_ know the truth?"

"I do! If anyone would listen! The _Fade_ is free from the quickening, the decay, of the world. There, the truth cannot ever be truly lost to time. You must understand, Cassandra,” he said, “if the Veil were to fall…”

“Then the world would be plunged into total chaos! We already know that.”

“The world as _you_ know it, yes. But, before the Veil existed, in the time of Arlathan, the world was different." His words cascaded forth, urgently. "Magic was everywhere."

“Before the Veil?” Cassandra glared at him. 

“Yes," said Solas. "How could the Veil _exist_ if _someone_ did not exist somewhere beforehand to create it?” he asked. His palms began to sweat. "The Chant of Light teaches that the Maker created the Veil… but that is wrong. What I must tell you—the truth...”

And then, Solas faltered.

He could not say the rest. He could not say that it was he, who imprisoned the false gods; he who had, in good faith, cleaved the world and brought about the drastic consequences. That the orb was his. That all of this war, this ruin, was the weight he shouldered. That what he owed his own people meant a sacrifice beyond what anyone should ever be expected to make.

"...The Veil was not created by your God, Cassandra," Solas said, stopping halfway to where he had wanted to go.

Still, it was enough to make her flinch.

“But that is—blasphemy. That is…”

“The truth,” Solas said. “You are a Seeker of Truth, Cassandra. Accept it.”

"You would have me doubt my faith in the Maker, now, of all times? _Why_?"

Because, Solas thought, he was a damned fool for her, clinging to every last moment in which she might still think him worthy of her love. Even in the face of the inevitable collapse of this small, tender dream they had shared, he just wanted her to love him a little longer. 

“I did not tell you this to hurt you," Solas said. "If you like, you may take this knowledge to the Chantry. Choose what is right for your people. You could restore the truth.”

“No, I don’t believe it. And why should I? You have said that there are many truths, in the Fade. Just because you saw one possibility, one interpretation, does not mean it is true. I need proof, Solas."

"I assure you, Cassandra, I _have_ proof. But... It will all be clear, soon enough."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Cassandra asked, searching his eyes with suspicion.

The wind rustled the trees above them, and Solas closed his eyes for a moment, desperate for focus. For respite, from her claim over his heart, his mind, his attention. He could hardly go on like this, bringing her within an inch of his goals. The sudden threat of Ava's connections to the Qunari had stoked the fire of his rebellion once more, and he knew that he must deal with these matters himself. Telling Cassandra of what had happened would mean the unravelling of everything he had worked towards. He could not risk turning over knowledge of the eluvians, not to the Inquisition, not to the Seekers... not before he had regained the power to restore what was. 

" _Vhenan_..." he began finally, voice tight and quiet. He had never needed her more than now, and yet he could not ask for what he truly needed.  

"Oh, you have a lot of nerve to call me that now, after you deny the Maker exists and rummage around in my life as if you have the right to decide what is best for me. I thought I knew you but I... I don't know, anymore," Cassandra said, and he felt sick at the bitterness and the hurt he heard in her voice. "Perhaps you were right, before. Maybe I was too _impulsive_..."

He reached out one hand for hers. 

" _No_ , Solas. Leave me be. I need some time alone." Cassandra brushed past him. " _Stay out_ of my dreams," she ordered, and walked back toward the castle. He could only watch her go, stunned. She didn't look back.

Solas waited until she was out of sight, and then waited longer. Waited, because the most innocent part of him expected her to return. To change her mind.

Only the gentle, uncaring breeze moved around him now, making the silver undersides of the leaves shiver in the moonlight. In his pocket, the pointed jut of broken amethyst cut into his palm as he held it too tight.

His knife wounds had been shoved to the back of his mind until the increasing sharpness of the pain roused him to action, and he cursed them, stumbling as he fell back onto one of the garden's stone benches, wincing. How many different kinds of pain was he to court, all in one night?

The only other person who might have had a worse night than Solas was the poor bastard on sentry duty who approached the bench where Solas lay bloodied and sewing himself up with careful spirit magic. The man had the sheer audacity to interrupt and ask Solas if he was all right, ser, to which Solas responded by demanding of him viciously if he _looked all right_ , cursing him out in Elvhen (with words whose translations would have made the Iron Bull blush), insulting both his religion and mother's honour, threatening to flay him alive, and sending him stammering back to the battlements with the fear of the Dread Wolf in his heart.


	17. The Lie in Which He Lingers

 

For days Cassandra stewed over her exchange with Solas. His claims were offensive, preposterous, and what was worse was that he said he had proof, but none that he had felt like sharing. She had been altogether too foolish, to allow him as much leeway as she had. Over time, she had grown to trust him, but did she even _really_ know him? 

Maker knew Solas had been pointedly avoiding providing her with personal details since she had first met him at Haven. She knew there was something dark in his past, something that closed him off from the world at times, but she had always believed that, once he trusted her, once he realized that she would not allow him to be arrested, or thrown in a circle, that he would open up about it. Whatever it was. Even when he did not offer it up, Cassandra had thought it best to give Solas his own time.

After all, she had learned that aggression was not an effective means of obtaining information from the mage. He could not be coerced, point blank, for anything. It was patience and simple interest, open-mindedness and good humour that earned his trust, and his opinions. His opinions were telling, though they did not give her all the facts. Cassandra was shrewd enough to recognize that Solas eschewed personal details in favour of theoretical discussion. Solas believed in freedom, above all else. But why? What, exactly, had happened to him before he found them at Haven? 

She had spent some time trying to understand where he was coming from, as well as she could, with as little information as she had. If, as he said, he had never encountered Templars or Seekers before, the prospect of consorting with them must have been terrifying at first. That he had stayed to assist them at all, at great personal risk, was reason enough to believe that he was as dedicated to fixing the world as Cassandra was. She did not doubt his motivation in this regard, nor did she doubt his empathy for anyone who suffered. 

The point on which Cassandra's mind lingered was that after the Temple of Mythal, the Inquisition's scholars had never been able to fully ascertain whether the elven sentinels were indeed ancient elves, as they claimed to be, or simply a fanatical sect of modern elves. Solas, however, despite being skeptical about most things, had seemed convinced _entirely_ that Abelas and the rest of the temple guardians were, unequivocally, as ancient as they said they were. He had accepted this as fact, with very little information. How had he known? Was _he_ one of them? Connected to them, somehow? He had been so secretive about his family. Did she even dare to guess who they were?

Cassandra was tired of waiting for answers. A knife fight? She had asked, and no one at the Herald's Rest had seen Solas for hours that night. She did not want to believe him capable of deception, but he had just proven that he was entirely capable of going behind her back to influence the Chantry's opinion of her.

Cassandra knew he was no Demon. No abomination. He was no blood mage. But he did have that uncanny, preternatural affinity for the Fade. He was not a spirit, not like Cole. He was a skillful mage, but Cassandra could not rid herself of the idea that Solas was something more, much more, than he had let any of them know. 

 

* 

 

Cassandra could hardly believe what she was hearing.

"You supported _me_ for Divine?" she asked Inquisitor Lavellan. 

She was standing in Cullen's office, speaking with Lavellan as Cullen paced the room. Cassandra had thought this impromptu meeting would more than likely be concerning Corypheus and the location of his base, but the Inquisitor's sudden confession of her support? What was this?

"Yes. I wrote a letter to the Clerics stating that you had my full recommendation," said Lavellan. 

Cullen prodded awkwardly at a stray chess piece on his desk. He finally looked up. 

"But... why?" Cassandra demanded.

"Because you're the best woman for the job," said Lavellan, with surprising passion. "You're the only one I want to see on the Sunburst Throne, Cassandra. You understand that there needs to be  _balance_. That order must still be upheld, if any change is to take place. And... I _trust_ you."

"You do?" Cassandra sighed, both moved and perplexed. "I am afraid there are many in the Chantry who would not share in that trust..." Cassandra felt a flush of embarrassment. "Surely you have heard the rumours."

Ellana and Cullen exchanged a brief but knowing glance. 

“We… _knew_ about you and Solas,” Cullen said, after a pensive silence. The lady Inquisitor sighed, crossing her arms, as though she hoped Cullen would not feel the need to mention this. The Commander went on. “We saw it even before the two of you did, I imagine. I knew it was not just _one_ time, as you said. You were not as subtle in your little _meetings_ around Skyhold as you thought you were. Frankly, you deserved better, Cassandra…”

At this, Ellana rolled her eyes.

Cassandra had to admit, she was surprised, even a little impressed, that Cullen had kept this knowledge to himself for so long. And the Inquisitor, too? 

“You never mentioned anything to me," the Seeker said, frowning at Cullen's apologetic face. 

“We both knew you wouldn’t want to draw attention to it,” Ellana said, kindly.

“Well... thank you,” said Cassandra, finally. “For not saying anything.”

“I’ll have you know that more than once I had to tell my men to stay out of that tower room at night, without any proper explanation. I think they thought I was using it myself. For my own… diversions.” Cullen shook his head, as if he was still embarrassed at the notion. “In any case, I _owed_ you, Cassandra,” said Cullen. “I stopped taking lyrium, thanks to you.”

Cassandra looked between the pair of them for a moment.

"Even knowing about me and Solas, you would still support me?"

"Of course," said Ellana, quickly. The young Dalish elf moved closer to Cassandra. Her gaze was steely. "I can publicly renounce the rumours, categorically deny their truth. Claim them to be merely lies, spun by your rivals in an attempt to sully your chances. Frame this as a baseless personal attack. There is no proof, and now that you and he are spending more... time _apart_ , people will be hard pressed to find any reason to doubt you."

Cassandra did not know what to say. Her cheeks were hot, and not entirely with embarrassment. She had not realized that Ellana thought so highly of her. 

" _Are_ you still seeing each other?" Cullen asked. 

"No... I... _well._ We.  _No_. It is... complicated." Cassandra sighed, shaking her head. 

"So it would seem," Cullen muttered.

"But, regardless of that...," Cassandra said, "Ellana. That you would do that for me is... well, I do not know what to say." 

"I know as well as anyone that affairs of the heart can be... tricky, in a position of power. The... _religious_ element only adds to that." The elf smiled at her. "Just... do what you have to do, Cassandra."

 

*

 

In those last weeks at Skyhold, after he had tried and failed to tell her the truth, Solas had fought himself everyday to keep away from Cassandra. She had turned an icy shoulder on him, but she deserved space. She deserved  _better_. It would all be over soon. Solas resigned himself to the idea that Cassandra might never speak to him again. With this in mind, he threw himself into his work. They would need to face Corypheus soon, and he must be prepared. 

After the close call with Ava, Solas had spent the last few weeks redoubling his efforts to discover and repair any further cracks in his spy network at Skyhold, and beyond. 

It was evening, as Solas paced his room, staring up at the walls and appraising his recent work on the fresco. He had left just enough space for the final panel of the Inquisition’s story to be blocked in. It would take a bit more time. Fresco was not a forgiving medium. The work itself required careful planning and perfect execution. If the plaster dried too early, then Solas would have had to chip off the day’s work and start over again. 

Timing was essential.

What would fill this final panel?

Soon, he thought, he would regain the Orb. He would be free, at last. His power restored. The truth could be revealed. 

And yet, there were so many things that could go wrong. There was no guarantee Corypheus could even be killed in the way they hoped. All those who faced him would be risking their lives. 

Solas turned from the wall at the sound of footsteps. He was surprised to see Inquisitor Lavellan standing in his doorway.

“My friend,” Solas said, in greeting. “I did not expect you to visit me at this hour. What is the occasion?”

Ellana looked a little shy, suddenly. 

“Solas, I… have something for you.” The young mage held out what appeared to be a set of armour. “I had Dagna make this for you. It’s based on the schematics we found at the Temple of Mythal. I—thought it would suit you.”

She passed the set to Solas, who held it up, examining each piece. It was intricately crafted, many-layered. The soft forest green hood and undercoat were cloth but the rest of the pieces were a mix of fitted leather and the glittering orange stone of the elven sentinels at the Temple of Mythal. The craftsmanship was very fine. And the ancient style was all too familiar to him. 

Solas knew a superb set of armour when he saw it.  
  
“I am speechless,” Solas admitted. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Solas. It’s the least I could do, after all the good advice you have dispensed. I know I haven’t always followed it, but… I appreciate it. Maybe now Dorian and Vivienne will stop teasing you about your robes?" Lavellan raised an eyebrow. 

Solas, much to his surprise, felt his heart warm. He set the sentinel armour down on his sofa, carefully. 

“Ellana,” Solas said, turning to face Lavellan. “Has the Mark troubled you, lately?”

“No. I thought, after the Well of Sorrows, that it was starting to flare up again, but… it seems fine. For now.” She smiled.

"That is good to hear," he said. If only she knew. Solas wished he could tell her the truth about the Mark, and yet, perhaps leaving her in the dark was in fact a kindness. What was to come would only frighten her. 

"Solas," said Ellana, "I... hope you don't mind me bringing this up, but... you and Cassandra..."

Solas settled into an uncomfortable silence.

"You heard what I said at Adamant?" he asked, quietly. 

"I did."

"Then I thank you for your discretion." He examined the fresco. "It was a... private moment."

"It's just that I have noticed you two have been spending some time _apart_ recently. And I didn't mean to pry. I just... I wanted you to know... I'm sorry, if it didn't work out, Solas. I know you care for her."  
  
He couldn't turn and look at her, so he just kept looking at the fresco. 

"Thank you, Inquisitor. Ellana." He swallowed. "You... have been a good friend."

That was the truth, he realized. And it worried him. Had he really grown this soft? 

Lavellan was, like all the Dalish, miserably ignorant and self-righteous. And what she saw in Commander Cullen, well, he would never fully understand, but she had grown into the power the Inquisition had bestowed on her. And, though she was Dalish, she was an elf, at least. The humans of Thedas could not deny _that_ , at least, about their 'Herald'. Lavellan had become strong. Where there had once been only impulse and fire, there was a wisdom that had taken root. It seemed that dealing with the turmoil of a nation at war and under constant threat of destruction had a way of knocking some sense into those at the fore of it. It would be difficult to leave her to fend for herself, after they defeated Corypheus... or rather,  _if_ they defeated him... but Solas knew that she would find her way. He had taught her too well for any other outcome, after all. 

Solas cleared his throat and turned to the woman they called Inquisitor. 

“While your concern for me is touching, there are more urgent concerns at hand. What are your plans for the future—for Morrigan, and the power of the Well, once Corypheus is dead?" 

“I will do my best to make the world better," Lavellan offered. "That is all any of us can do.”

Solas sighed. To be young and optimistic again. He almost yearned for it. 

“And what if you  _don’t_  succeed?” he cautioned. “What if you wake up and find the world you created is worse than before? What then?”

Ellana looked to her mentor thoughtfully. She hooked a strand of auburn hair behind one ear and wrinkled her brow. 

“Don’t talk like that, Solas. You sound as if you think you’re going to die.”

_If she only knew..._

“Forgive my melancholy," he said. "Corypheus has cost us much...”

Solas glanced up at the newest part of the fresco and breathed in. The smell of the fresh paint grounded him. In truth, he often found the process of painting to be meditative, or, at the very least, distracting. 

“You know what the Dalish sometimes say about cynics, Solas?” Lavellan asked him. 

“No," he confessed. "What do the Dalish say?”

“They say cynics are what remains of crushed idealists.” The corners of Lavellan's eyes crinkled as she looked up at Solas. “Do not despair, hahren. We will make it through this. I know we all will. Together.”

“I hope you are right, da’len. Though, I would have you know I do not consider myself a cynic, or an idealist for that matter—I prefer to think that I am a  _realist_.” 

“Ah, well," she said, smiling. “The Dalish do not have many sayings about realists.”

Solas smiled back, sadly.

“Somehow, I am not surprised.” 

 

*

 

By now there were many late nights, many _sleepless_ nights, that had passed between the night Solas and Cassandra had argued in the gardens.

A passing interest in Solas's sex life had long since waned and been forgotten by those who had shared in that brief and embarrassing conversation at the Herald's Rest many nights ago, but if Solas had thought that anyone there possessed the patience or the nuanced comprehension required to understand his sexual fantasies, here was what he would have told them.

The mood of Solas's desire existed on a heavy pendulum that swung from a supple vulnerability to a cocky, calculated bravado.

On the one hand, it brought him considerable pleasure to cater to Cassandra's preferences, to appease that secret desire for praise, for permission _._  Yes, he did it to please a woman he adored, but he also did it for the selfish satisfaction of knowing he could give the Seeker what no other man could. There was a special pride in dominating a woman whom few would dare to consider capable of submission. Age may have leant him patience and nuance, but Solas still had a streak of  _conquest_  in him. 

On the other hand, there was the matter of control. Solas liked control. In fact he excelled at it. The real trouble was finding someone who could control  _him_. Too often, people were not stimulating enough to challenge him. Solas was not an easy person to dominate, but he  _longed_  to be handled roughly. Cassandra's power, as a Seeker, could truly take away his own. His fascination with this ability extended beyond mere physical manifestation; on a psychological level too, Solas wanted her to firmly crush his ego, humiliate him, grind him down, strip away all pride, and yet he was, on some level anyway, ashamed of this. Shocked, and surprised, and angry with himself for wanting it. The contradiction within him only fuelled the maddening desire for her. Her power over him was a drug, and he wanted it with such a hunger that it hurt.

In this way, denying him only fed into his desires.

The longer she refused him the attention he sought, the more power she gained over him. He ached to be overthrown by her words, by her nearness. He went through the last days before Corypheus with his throat tight; his body weak; his heart was a sponge for her stoic silence, wet and sick and impossibly heavy with unfulfilled desire. As he had after the Winter Palace, he fell into a self-enforced chastity. 

 


	18. She Who Trusts In The Maker

The shadows were long and cold as evening fell at Skyhold, and Cassandra found Solas in the stairwell, near his room.

She spoke his name. He turned toward her and, at last, in the torchlight, his eyes met hers.

The Seeker walked up the steps to meet him where he stood, closing the space between them so that she was one step below, and her eyes were nearly level with his. They had not spoken a word to each other in weeks now, and Solas looked like a man who waited for the hangman's noose. Dark shadows under his eyes. A closed expression. Still, he held his ground, watching her, a curious blend of tension and calm. Was she to be the executioner?

"You were right to be angry. You should forget me," Solas whispered. "Please." But she was not here to forget him. Cassandra reached up and laid both of her hands softly on his neck. Solas shut his eyes as she wrapped her arms around him, the apple of his throat bobbing, and a sound of barely audible relief escaping from his parted lips. Soon she had an arm wound snugly around his waist, the other gripping the back of his neck.

"Get on your knees," Cassandra ordered. Solas's ears flattened back a little. "I know this is what you  _want_."

She watched as Solas's knees gave way beneath him, like a shelf of earth. Cassandra had used none of her power on him, yet still he crumbled and fell at her feet. He was so dazed he couldn’t speak at first, except to groan her name into her thigh, clutching fistfuls of the cloth padding of her armour. 

“Let me… apologize,” he whispered fervently. 

“Show me,” Cassandra said, and, with her leather-gloved hands on the back of his head, she pressed his face between her thighs and felt him inhale the scent of her. “Show me how sorry you are.” His mouth and nose, even against her clothing, could surely feel the raw wetness of her need.  _Yes_. They were doing this here. In the stairwell. Fine. Anywhere. Cassandra didn't care. She needed him. Despite everything, he drove her mad. She hastily unbuckled her belt so that she could give herself to him.

Solas was eager, and once she had freed herself of the belt, he yanked her pant legs down to just above her knees.

A part of Cassandra' mind was able to take all of this in and judge it for the dysfunctional mess it surely was, but that part was a distant whisper against a dissonant chorus of raging desire that simply would not be denied. 

She leaned her back against the stone wall of the staircase as Solas pressed his mouth and fingers into the wet, aching folds of her. Cassandra tipped her head back. She kept one hand on the back of his head, as the other clawed into his shoulder. She was reminded of their first night together. The way he, without hesitation, gave himself over to the task. His fingers were quick, and she had waited for so long. He tongued and fingered her to a throbbing climax within five minutes, and she felt him growl into her clit as she crested, her hips rolling. She helped him to his feet, her legs still trembling, and they kissed with urgent inhibition. 

"I need you inside me," Cassandra begged, tearing her mouth from his. 

"We shouldn't... Not here..."

She brought her Seeker's will against his, made him dizzy with the lust he already felt. She saw his eyes change, clouding with physical desire, saw his mouth slacken with it. Who would have thought that rending his focus from the Fade would be so easy? All it took was a Seeker's touch... She wrestled him free of his breeches, pulling them down just enough to expose him. 

"It is now or  _never_ , Solas."

She felt up his considerable length with one hand.

Solas made a small sound of dissent, but he pushed her back and pressed her into the cold stone wall just the same.

" _Fuck me_  like I know you can," Cassandra half-ordered, half begged, breathily. 

He pivoted and she gasped in surprise as he spun her by the shoulders, roughly, forcing her front into the cold stone now. 

She cried out at the sweet fullness of his long-sought entrance. His presence inside her drove her mad, as it always did, and she could only moan like a pitiful girl, glad when Solas closed both hands over her mouth tightly. 

He bound her wrists with magic—he had never done that outside of the Fade. Maker, to be under his spell once more...

Solas reached for her undone belt and pulled it free of her trousers. Then, he enclosed her waist and tightened the belt, winding the loose end around his hand so that he could pull her back onto his cock with absolute control. And then, from behind, he fucked her into the wall. She had no chance to shy back and soften the depth of his strokes. In fact, she had not even realized that she did that at all, until she couldn't.

Oh shit. Shitshit _shit_  he pushed deep. With every pummel, Cassandra was seeing stars. Her cheek and clothed breasts pressed into cold hard stone.

It was not in her nature to concede all power though, and out of pure instinct her Seeker's will rose to constrict the world around them. A reminder that his power over her was but a temporary gift. 

At the rush of nullification, her magic bonds dissolved into the air.

"You need to— _nngg—_ ease back," Solas warned her, his breath suddenly trembling. "Or— _ah—_  I'll finish too soon..."

"Finish?" she quipped, over her shoulder. "When did I say you were allowed to finish?"

Behind her, Solas groaned. 

"You are a...  _ah_... cruel mistress..." he observed.   
  
Cassandra nearly laughed with exhilaration, grinning into the hard stone of the wall between ragged breaths. Maker, she loved this part. Loved when she could feel the tide turning, loved to find the cracks in his resolve and prise it apart. 

"And are you so  _shocked_?" 

"Cassandra  _please—_ " Oh, his voice now. It got so sweet and desperate...

"Who says when you can come, Solas?" she asked. 

Solas sucked in a breath through his teeth. 

" _You do_."

It seemed he was still game for this, after all.

"And do you  _like_  that?" Cassandra asked, smiling when all she heard was his muffled affirmative moan. Maker, was he biting down on one fist? She really hoped he was. "Are you a little slut, Solas?" she asked him. His breathing hitched. There was an unfolding moment, where she really wondered if he could bring himself to respond to this. Would he throw back some snark?

" _Only for you_ ," Solas said, utterly serious, his breathless voice so low and ragged with desire that it made her cunt flex around him. Maker, as soon as he gave in that did her in, every time...

One of Solas's fists hit the wall. Organ heavy and pulsing, he spent into her body. He buried his frayed, obscene sob of pleasure in her shoulder. 

Solas pulled out finally, and Cassandra turned herself to face him. She found herself face to face with his dark-eyed lust. She had almost forgotten that flushed, completely undone look on his face soon after he came. She was sure now, there was a heaven that existed only in his arms. His fingers laced into her hair, his mouth a breath away from hers. The game, the pretense, the fire, it all melted away. As much as she enjoyed testing the tightness of her grip on him, afterwards there was always the truth—the tender truth. That this was more than sex, more than the flirting game they played. What they had was real. 

He kissed her, long and well. It was gentle. Complicated. Slow. 

She had to pull back from the mounting intensity of it. 

"It is very likely I will be named Divine," she said, still panting a little. To this, he said nothing. Only looked up at her with glassy eyes and some kind of implacable expression. “But... I don’t want to leave you. Solas…” Cassandra confessed in a breathy, desperate whisper. 

"You  _mus_ t," he said, into her neck, his voice a soft mercy as his head rested along the rise of her shoulder. 

While his forehead still rested on her shoulder, she grabbed him by the backs of his ears and stroked their full lengths, both at once. Even softening as he was, Solas jerked his hips once against her in helpless response, cock twitching against her, a little hiss escaping his lips.

Cassandra pressed urgent kisses under his jaw, into the flushed heat that had blossomed across his neck. The pads of his fingers found the soft place behind each of her ears, and pressed in, gently stroking. Solas nuzzled into her neck and cheek, all sweetness and soft caresses, even as he gently pulled back from her embrace. She could sense the nearness of his inevitable departure, and her insides fluttered with the sick grief of it. He looked into her eyes, and brushed her single blinked-out tear away with his gentle thumb. 

“Oh Cassandra..." He kissed her forehead, with a chaste devotion that made her love swell. "I’m  _sorry_ ,” Solas rasped, voice twined with lust and sadness. 

"Solas..." She searched his eyes. "Don't leave me. Not now..." She was through with commands. This was not an order, but a plea. Cassandra inhaled shakily. "Solas. I love you," she confessed, in a broken whisper. Everything inside her slowly came apart. 

"I— _can't_." Still, he pressed one more soft kiss to her cheek. "You must harden your heart to a cutting edge," he whispered against her ear. His hands were busy fixing her belt, looping it back through the belt loops, setting her right again, carefully re-doing what he had been so quick to undo, minutes earlier. 

Solas had tucked himself back into his breeches. Cassandra reached for his hands, but he shook his head, holding up his palms in warning. She felt the warmth of his body slipping away from hers. Maker, it would never be enough. She always wanted more of him. Needed more of him.

Solas looked into her eyes sadly. 

"It's over, Cassandra. I'm sorry."

He backed away from her, turning quickly, and the way he moved his hand to his face, she wondered if he was stifling tears... He was already making his way down the staircase so quickly that she couldn't tell... He had disappeared around the bend of the wall. She heard his footsteps in his room, the rustle of a cloak. More footsteps, as he no doubt left for the courtyard, seeking solitude. 

Cassandra leaned back and slid down the wall until she was seated on the hard stone steps. She sat very still, for a time. In another life, perhaps they could have left everything behind... but in this world, they both knew what they must do. The ache for him was real. Overwhelming. The hooks of this slow, silent love had settled deep. Cassandra buried her face in her arms and cried. 

 

* 

 

Word spread quickly of Corypheus’s sudden, unannounced arrival in the wilderness near Skyhold. Lavellan's Mark was burning bright and urgent, and the Breach bore down on them. It was not long before the Inquisition’s strongest members were called to meet outside the stronghold, one last time before they marched out with Lavellan to the mountains, to the final battle. Solas had not been expecting this so soon, and everything inside him jolted to life with the sharp focus that held the Orb nearly in his sights once more. It had been so long, so hard-fought, that a part of him was glad this was nearly over. 

As he hurried out of his quarters, down the stairs and out to Skyhold's courtyard, adjusting the hood of his new set of sentinel armour, Solas was suddenly conscious of the eyes that followed him. Servants. Soldiers. Ambassador Montilyet. Even that damned elven librarian. They all seemed to turn their heads and watch him as he strode by, hand now tightly gripping his staff. 

Should he be worried? Had one of his spies perhaps let something slip?  _Now_  of all times, did they suspect him? Solas readied himself for the worst.

“Oh  _my_ ,” Vivienne purred, with a wicked smile, as he approached the group of them, where the fighting members of the Inquisition gathered beyond the drawbridge.   
  
“ _Oh my_?” Solas echoed, skeptically. “Is there something you disapprove of, Enchanter?”

Vivienne could only smack Dorian’s arm and nod towards Solas. Dorian glanced in Solas’s direction. He stared for a moment, letting his mouth hang open even as he began to grin. 

“Solas, you… wow,” said Dorian. “Just  _wow_.”  
  
Sera took one look at him and instantly dissolved into a disbelieving titter.

“Ahahahaholy shitballs, Elfy, you’ve been like—working on those thighs, right? Who knew? Couldn’t  _see_ you under that old flappy thing you were stuck in before.”  
  
Solas glared back at them all, at a loss. 

“Oh for—Is this a  _joke_ , or are you all seriously so excited about a slight change in clothing?”

“That is not a slight change in clothing, Solas,” Dorian said smoothly. “That, as they say, is an  _upgrade_.”  
  
“ _So_ las,” Iron Bull growled, and looked the mage up and down in a way that made Solas feel decidedly objectified. “You look  _good_.”  
  
Bull shot him a crooked smile, and winked. 

Solas turned exactly ten shades redder.  
  
“Oh come now, don’t frighten the poor man,” Blackwall chided. “It looks sturdy, and maneuverable, Solas. You’ll need that sort of protection, against Corypheus.”  
  
Solas had never liked Blackwall more than he did then.

Before he could defend his fashion choices, Varric arrived, with Cassandra close behind.  
  
“Why did nobody tell me about the new plan?” Varric asked the group. 

“What  _new_ plan, Varric?” Cassandra asked, glancing down at the dwarf. She had not yet noticed Solas.

“The ‘dangle Solas in front of Corypheus and try to blind him with the sparkle coming off of that shiny armoured ass’ plan,” said Varric, looking amused.  
  
Cassandra finally looked toward Solas. Solas caught her eye for only a moment before turning away, clearing his throat abruptly. He stared up at the Breach in the sky. If Corypheus could simply kill him  _now_ , perhaps that would be best.  
  
Mercifully, as he had suspected, Cassandra said absolutely nothing.  

Lavellan turned from where she had been speaking with Harding, no doubt discussing the reports of the scouts. Their mounts were being readied. It was time to ride out and end this.

"Ready?" Lavellan asked the group of them.

"Ready," said the Seeker, and her sword, as she unsheathed it, glinted bright, reflecting flame against the night.

In the this new armor, Solas looked almost offensively good, of course, but somehow in her heart Cassandra still preferred his old threadbare robes from Haven. There had been something sexy about knowing that she alone could see the shape of his naked form, when for all others it had been obscured by soft, worn fabrics, and a nomadic penchant for carrying his possessions on his back. These sleek, fitted robes left little to the imagination. They declared him the man he was, not merely a hedge mage, but a subtle strategist and ruthless opponent who was no stranger to the battlefront.

Somehow, having this side of him on display was... jarring.

Shielded by a barrier of Solas’s design, Cassandra charged the line of demons, striking down everything that lay in her path. The fighting was close-quarters, on a precarious chunk of earth that floated to the sky, as if magnetically drawn to the Breach in the sky. Lavellan, Solas, Cassandra, and Varric had been summoned into the sky to face Corypheus at last. The others had been trapped below, on solid ground. It was up to them. It was fitting, thought Cassandra, that the four of them should be the ones to finish this, as it had been the four of them who started it, at Haven, over a year ago. 

“Solas," she called to the mage, over her shoulder. "I am not finished with you. I know you have been  _hiding_ something from me,” Cassandra said, vehemently, between smashing demons into the ground. Corypheus had summoned several Shades, to cover his retreat. The demons were proving to be troublesome. 

" _I_ have been hiding? If memory serves, I believe you recently ignored me for some weeks."

Cassandra let out a frustrated grunt.

"So now _you_ ignore _me_?"

“On the contrary, I believe I just prevented that demon from mauling you,” Solas observed.

“You _know_ that is not what I meant,” said Cassandra. 

They soon found themselves engulfed within the throng of demons. Cassandra swung her sword, angrily cutting a path through them, taunting them in a blaze of anger.

“Do you really think _now_ is the time to discuss this?” Solas snapped, carefully Fade-stepping out of harm’s way. 

“Now is as good a time as any,” Cassandra insisted, sword raised. 

“As you wish, then. I shall try to time my incinerations accordingly, so as not to— _interrupt_ your train of thought, Seeker.”

Cassandra raised her shield, parrying. The Seeker and Solas stood back to back, against the onslaught of demons.

“Since Haven, you—you  _have_ known more than you told us, haven't you?” 

"It is as I have said, Cassandra. If we both live to see this through, everything will be made clear..." Solas gritted his teeth and summoned the pure force of the Fade. The demons were gathered close now, and he was ready to unleash a firestorm upon them. 

" _Surely_ you can—"

“I would move if I were you," Solas cautioned, hands and staff alike blazing with magic.

“That is not—” 

Solas cast a taut, clean barrier over her head a moment before a falling chunk of Fade rock would have crushed her. 

“Or, by all means, continue!” he cried, over the din of the battle. 

The elf and the Seeker stood in the midst of the tumult, safe for now under the magic shield of Solas’s barrier, as he rained meteors down from a tear in the Fade, haphazardly crushing every enemy within a fifty foot radius. 

“Solaaas!” Varric cried, firing a bolt over his shoulder before he backed up desperately, his eye on the Fade rocks that were hurtling down dangerously close to him. “You are going to _kill someone_!”

“That is the point!” Solas retorted, his cloak spinning about him as he cast. 

“But not  _me_ , Solas!” Varric continued to back away from the locus of Solas's attack, which continued in a burning rain of indiscriminate destruction.

“Please don’t kill Varric, Solas!” Lavellan pleaded, casting ice as she retreated from the maelstrom in an elegant whirl of magic, leaving the bantering rift mage and warrior duo to finish off the demons at close range. With Cassandra's high guard and Wrath of Heaven glowing bright and Solas's barrier up and Winter's Grasp at the ready, they were a kind of specialized demon-slaughtering force. 

“Inquisitor, can you not see the Seeker and I are trying to have a conversation?” Solas froze a nearby shade, whom Cassandra had injured, and crushed it with his own stonefist attack, so it all but exploded on site. Solas turned to the Seeker. “Now, what were you saying?” 

Cassandra, narrowly dodging another burning Fade rock, angrily smote the nearest demon. 

“Even now, after all we have been through, do you really trust me so little?” she asked Solas. "Look out!"

A line of new demons surged toward the mage.

“What would you have me do, Cassandra? We have almost reached our goal. After this--”

Solas, conveying an impatient exasperation, froze the three demons solid, and Cassandra bashed into them with her shield, roaring and striking hard, then spinning and shattering their frozen corpses into a rain of splintered ice. 

“ _After this_ ,” Cassandra said, breathing hard with effort. “You will tell me everything. Whether you like it or not.”

“Is that so?”

"It is.”

The rain of meteors had died down now, and the two of them stood, panting, in the midst of a pile of destruction. Ice shards and smoking demon corpses lay scattered among the chunks of summoned rock. Lavellan and Varric stood gaping at them from a safe distance.

“Well, that was easy enough,” said Ellana, the ghost of a cocky grin moving across her face. Just then, an almighty screech cut through the air. The flapping of great wings sounded overhead. 

The red lyrium dragon swooped down and landed, having finally bested Morrigan's dragon form in combat.

Ellana exchanged a glance with Varric, who stood at her side.

“I may have spoken a  _teensy_  bit too soon, just then," she admitted. 

“Do you think?” Varric deadpanned.

“Get back!” Cassandra cried, realizing the very real danger they were in. 

She charged headlong into the creature. 

The dragon was putting up a vicious fight until Varric, from a vantage point a ways back, fired a crossbow bolt straight into its throat. For the first time, the dragon faltered, stepping back, unable to raise its guard. 

Dark dragon blood dripped onto the rock below. 

A second bolt found its mark, not an inch from the first. The dragon reared in agony. Solas glanced back at the dwarf. Varric shot well, when it counted. 

It was the Inquisitor who ended the beast though, cutting the creature down with a mighty swipe of rift magic at close range. Blood spurted from the magical wound, and the dragon screamed, and collapsed in a heap, defeated at last, nearly falling on Cassandra, who stepped back just in time to have the heaving mass of dragon fall at her feet definitively, in a cloud of dust. 

There was a moment of absolute, exhausted silence shared between the four of them.

“We must get to Corypheus,” Solas urged. 

Scorched by dragon fire, injured, her stores of energy low, Cassandra gritted her teeth and followed Solas up the winding stone stairs into the cold dusk and the danger of the incoming attack. It was not like Solas to put himself at the fore, in fact it was stupidly reckless, but there was something in his eyes today she had not seen, not even when Corypheus had arrived at Haven, and not even in the Fade. He wore a sheen of pure desperation. She knew he would do anything to win, and this filled her with admiration, but also also with fear. She had a worrying sense that Solas would throw away his own life, for victory. She trained her eyes skyward, and spotted Corypheus a ways ahead, glowing red with what had been the dragon's magical energy. 

“Move now!” Lavellan ordered, as she was knocked back by a red blast of light, protected only by a thin barrier of magic. 

The darkspawn magister seared a path of red lightning through them, narrowly missing Solas and Cassandra.

Solas was exhausted, but he could could hear the crackle of the Orb's magic, sense it even at a distance. The promise of the mark tugged at him. In truth, Solas was terrified of the power Corypheus now wielded. If the magister found a way to unlock the Orb, it would be over for them all. Solas kept a constant, weak barrier around the group and pressed on. They climbed their way toward Corypheus, who seemed to be trying to unlock the Orb, locked in a kind of ritual. Solas's heart leapt to his throat. He, along with Ellana, and Varric sent flame and Fade and arrow at him, disrupting his progress, until finally they faced him in a skirmish once more, and Cassandra could finally unleash her retribution on him. The Seeker threw herself at Corypheus, slicing upwards with a blinding force. 

Lavellan, Varric, and Solas fell back, giving everything they had in a barrage of ranged attacks, as Cassandra held the brunt of Corypheus's attention.

“A pike shall hold your head before the Grand Cathedral, Seeker!” Corypheus goaded, going toe to toe with the Seeker.

“We shall see about that!” Cassandra cried, striking hard and fast, on his open side. Corypheus cried out and fell to his knees, the orb dropping from his hands and rolling to the rocky ground at last. Lavellan grabbed it in her anchored hand, the charged energy arcing off in all directions, blowing her hair back off of her shoulders and stirring their robes and cloaks about them in an eldritch wind. 

"You wanted into the Fade?" the Dalish mage challenged, stepping toward Corypheus, the orb under her control. It glowed bright, suspended above her hand. Corypheus tried to rise, but instead cried out in pain as he was forced down to her feet, weakened now beyond repair. 

Solas pushed his way past Varric, steeling himself for what was to come. 

In an instant, Corypheus was consumed by rift magic and swallowed into nothing as Lavellan used the power of the orb to shoot a torrent of energy up into the breach, sealing it at last. In those precious moments, the rocky outcroppings that had reached up toward the Fade could no longer stay risen high above the earth, and suddenly everything was losing latitude, careening downward. Rocks and whole pillars of earth shattered down among them. Their small party was forced to retreat as the stolen pieces of earth tumbled back downward, to meet with the remainder of the ground once more.

As rock collided with ground, there was a massive impact that knocked them all off of their feet. 

Cassandra struggled to get up, blinking a spray of dirt from her eyes. It seemed the piece of earth they were trapped upon was at last part of solid ground. 

A few feet ahead of her, she watched Solas right himself and walk slowly to where the Orb had been. It seemed, in the crash of rock, that it had been crushed. Perhaps the immense power it had channeled to close the breach had simply been too much...

Solas held the artifact's broken fragments, crouched over it in silence for a moment. 

"The orb..." he said, voice weighted low with disappointment. 

Cassandra watched as he set down a shattered, dark piece. 

"Solas..." she began, pulling herself at last to her feet. Then Cassandra watched the world tilt sideways, and the image of Solas with it. 

Everything went black. 

_Sleep._

She could hear Solas's voice, in her head, though it was echoing from a long way off, obscured beyond a thousand mirrored walls, beyond time and space...

_You were right to be angry. I hope, in time, you will understand._

Her consciousness was swept away from her body in a riptide. She did not feel herself hit the ground. 

_My heart._

The world spun beyond her closed eyes, and inside her head there were stars that stretched for eons into profound darkness. The tiny blood vessels on the insides of her eyelids changed to stretching branches... veins of glowing lyrium.

_My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions..._

Under her, all around her, the earth moved. And Solas's voice, like a song inside her, an echo from deep, _deep_ _within everything_...

_Sleep, Cassandra. Sleep..._

 

*

 

When Cassandra woke, she was at Skyhold, laid out on a bedroll near the surgeon’s tents. Above her, the moon and stars were out. The Sky was strangely still and peaceful. Where there had been a Breach, there was now only a seam, like a faint scar in the Veil. Vivienne and Dorian were standing over her, locked in a hushed argument.  
  
“Hey. You two. Quit it. She’s wakin’ up.” It was Sera’s voice.  
  
Dorian moved to Cassandra’s side, gathering her hands in his.  
  
“Seeker,” he said warmly. “You decided to return to world of the living after all.”  
  
“Was I—Did we… win?” Cassandra tried to sit up, bleary-eyed and confused. Around her, there were several injured scouts and soldiers being treated by the surgeons.  

“Yes. Corypheus, at last, is no more. You—blacked out," Dorian explained. 

"I... _blacked out_?" Cassandra stared at them in disbelief. 

"You fainted, dear," said Vivienne. 

Cassandra set her jaw. 

"I have never _fainted_ in my life."

"Well, I'm afraid you _were_ gravely injured," Vivienne said. "The Iron Bull carried you back here."

"Quite the sight. Tossed you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Though, he did say you're lighter than you look," Dorian added.

“Wait. Where… _where_ is Solas?” Cassandra asked, sitting up fully and pushing the blanket off of her legs.

The pair of mages fell silent.

“Well… We don’t _know_ , exactly,” Dorian admitted. 

“When you fell, you hit your head quite hard, my dear,” Vivienne explained. “Dorian and I did what we could to help. The Inquisitor was injured, too. Two broken ribs. And Morrigan took quite the fall. At first, it did not look good. In the confusion afterwards, trying to account for everyone’s injuries… it seems that Solas simply slipped away.”

“He... didn’t say anything?” Cassandra asked, desperate. 

“No, my dear." Vivienne shot her a rare look of genuine sympathy. "I am sorry. I believe Leliana is looking into the matter," she said, lightly.  
  
Cassandra swallowed, hard.

“I will… have to speak with her,” she said, tersely. She stared determinedly at the grass, lest they see that she was ready to explode. 

“But tell her the other thing,” said Sera, fidgeting impatiently.  
  
“What is it?” Cassandra demanded.  
  
Dorian and Vivienne looked to one another. 

“Fine, _I’ll_ tell her,” Sera said. “While you were knocked out cold, Mother Giselle showed up and wanted to talk to you. Told us to tell you that she thinks the Chantry weirdos actually want you to be Divine now. Wanted to warn you, actually because she says there's people petitioning in the streets of Val Royeaux or something. Crazy shite, I know. So, give it a month or so and you’ll probably get to be stuffy and wearing a stupid hat thing, forever. But that’s what you wanted, right? There’s a party tonight, yeah—to celebrate the world not being over. And you deserve to party, Cassandra.”

 

*

 

Skyhold’s main hall was filled with members of the Inquisition, happily eating and drinking side by side. Everyone was in good spirits, it seemed, except Cassandra. She wandered through the crowds feeling like a ghost of herself. She wondered vaguely if this was how Cole felt, in a crowded room. 

She finally managed to speak with Leliana.  
  
“I wanted to wish you the best, Cassandra." Leliana's eyes glinted in the candlelight of the hall. "I hear odds are tipping in your favour, of late.” 

“So they say,” Cassandra agreed. “How quickly the tide turns." She sighed. "Let us not be too quick to assume, Leliana. If I have learned anything it is that anything can happen. Whomever they choose, Justinia's legacy will continue. You and I will make sure of it. In whatever capacity the Maker decides.” 

“Yes. We will.” Leliana shot her a rare, kind smile. “How are you doing, Cassandra? Your injuries had us all worried.”

“I am feeling better, thank you. I am… relieved, that it is over, at last. I can hardly believe it. It is as though the Maker was playing a cruel joke on us, is it not? A darkspawn Magister who would be a God? The Herald of Andraste?”

“Yes. I know what you mean. _Somehow_ though, the Inquisition prevailed." She gazed around the room, and sighed. "Finally, a moment’s peace.” Leliana looked at her carefully, hesitating for a moment. “The others told you… about Solas?”

“Yes.”

“My spies have found no sign of him. We will continue to look. He left no messages—nothing. He has simply… vanished.”

“I see,” Cassandra said, tightly.

“I—know you two were… close. We’ll keep looking. Perhaps something will turn up.”

“Perhaps,” said Cassandra. “You would do well to check the eluvian, if you have not already done so.”

“The eluvian? Morrigan closed it. I thought that no longer led anywhere.”

“So did I,” said Cassandra. “Even so—I would check and see if anyone knows anything about it being… reactivated, somehow.” She glanced across the room. “I think Josephine has been trying to get your attention…” Cassandra nodded in the direction of the Ambassador, standing with Lavellan, across the room. 

“Ah. Thank you. I almost forgot, I am supposed to be sampling some kind of Antivan liqueur Josie claims is made from the tears of unpublished poets, or some such nonsense." She smiled easily. "Inquisitor's orders. Care to join us?"

"No. Thank you. I need to... sit."

"I will speak with you later, Cassandra."

Leliana took her leave. 

Cassandra sat alone at the edge of a banquet table, staring out, unseeing, and felt her eyes slowly fill with tears. What _was_ it that Solas would not tell her? What was so important that he would leave her without a word? She suspected, with some contrition, that _he_ had been the cause of her apparent 'fainting' spell. Maker knew if she had been conscious, that mage would not have gotten far.

Surely she and Solas could have _tried_. Even if she was made Divine, they could found some way to stay in touch or... perhaps she was just a fool, to have clung to any hope for them. It was all so fresh, she did not know how to settle her thoughts. None of it seemed real. She still expected him to be here. To emerge from around a corner, holding a wine glass like a prince dressed in rags. Laughing and making eyes at her across the room. 

Varric and Cole passed by, in friendly conversation. Cassandra glanced quickly at Varric. He was wearing a very fine shirt of blue silk, though his sandy-ginger hair was still in disarray from the fight and she saw that he had fresh stitches across his brow. Still, his smile was broad and his voice bright. The dwarf took one look at the Seeker and stopped mid-sentence.  
  
“Seeker… Is everything alright?” Varric asked, softly.  
  
Cassandra could not summon the words, but Cole could.

“She’s hurting, hating, asking herself why. He left, without goodbye, but she wanted to help. She thinks it’s her fault, but it’s not. Cassandra, he would want you to know it’s _not._ ”

Cassandra met Cole's honest gaze in thanks only for a moment, before she had to look away. Solas had not only left her, but he had left _Cole_. How could he do this? Cassandra felt protective of the strange spirit boy. Though at first she had been deeply troubled by his presence, Cole had become her confidante. In fact she, Varric, and Solas had become something of a strange set of surrogate parents for the boy, though, she had to admit, this loose arrangement had more than once devolved into more of a custody battle than anything else.

Varric sighed heavily, scratching at his stubble thoughtfully. 

“Well, kid. I… don’t know how much of that I understood, but I take it this is about Solas leaving?”  
  
Cassandra felt as though she were sinking under a great, impossible weight. 

“He—he never _trusted_ us, Varric," Cassandra said finally. "He never really did. I know he was afraid that after this ended I would—fail to protect him. I would throw him in chains. Lock him in a Circle. We did not do enough to show him he was one of us. To show him that we… _cared_ for him. That is why he is gone. He believed we would just… hand him over to the authorities, without a second thought. ”

“Hey, look. At this point I think we _are_ the authorities. Nobody was going to do anything to Chuckles. Shit, he’s a _hero_ now.”

“You do not know that, Varric. If he had been hiding something—something that could implicate him. Then… what choice would we have?”

“You really think he was hiding something, all that time? What?”

“I—never found out.”  
  
Her vision blurred with tears. She wiped her eyes quickly, ashamed. 

“Come here, come here.” Varric took her in his arms, in a warm, firm embrace. “Jeez, I thought you two disagreed on everything, Cassandra. I didn’t realize—look. I’m sure Chuckles has his reasons for leaving.” The sympathy in Varric’s voice surprised her. “It’ll all come out, eventually. It always does.” 

“Varric I— _thank you_. After what happened with Hawke, at Adamant… I thought you hated me," Cassandra said, hugging the dwarf tight. 

“Hated you? Seeker, how could anyone _hate_ you? Tease you? Hide things from you? Willfully infuriate you? Yes. But I could never hate you, Cassandra.”

She pulled back from the surprisingly tender hug, and wiped her eyes once more. 

“That is… good to hear. I’m sorry, Varric. I’m sorry if I ever did you wrong.”

“I’m sorry too, Seeker. But look at the two of us. We managed to survive long enough to kiss and make up. Now that’s something.”

He winked, like the rogue he was.

"Don't push your luck, Varric."

For the rest of the evening, Cassandra did her best to put on a brave face, speaking to the guests who congratulated her on her part in their victory. But, as the action of the banquet waned, and people began to retire for the night, she excused herself politely and wandered into Solas’s room. 

It was profoundly empty. Silent, in the hollow, reverberating way that rounded rooms can be. Even the Veilfire had been extinguished. 

She looked up, and saw the final section of the fresco had been started. When had Solas done this, she wondered. It depicted a creature—a wolf? It had been sketched in only roughly. This wolf stood over something that was stabbed through with a sword. She could not decide what the other figure was. It might have been a dragon. And was that an… eluvian? That was curious…

Approaching the missing mage’s desk, Cassandra was drawn to an open book that lay there. It was a bound copy of the Chant of Light. In place of a bookmark, it seemed Solas was using a long-stemmed pink flower to mark the open page. 

Solas had been reading the Chant of Light? Would he never cease to surprise her? Cassandra looked to the page he had left open, and read the words upon it.

  

 

 

 

 

> _Many are those who wander in sin,_
> 
> _Despairing that they are lost forever,_
> 
> _But the one who repents, who has faith_
> 
> _Unshaken by the darkness of the world,_
> 
> _And boasts not, nor gloats_
> 
> _Over the misfortunes of the weak, but takes delight_
> 
> _In the Maker's law and creations, she shall know_
> 
> _The peace of the Maker's benediction.  
>  _
> 
> _The Light shall lead her safely_
> 
> _Through the paths of this world, and into the next._
> 
> _For she who trusts in the Maker, fire is her water._
> 
> _As the moth sees light and goes toward flame,_
> 
> _She should see fire and go towards Light._
> 
> _The Veil holds no uncertainty for her,_
> 
> _And she will know no fear of death, for the Maker_
> 
> _Shall be her beacon and her shield, her foundation and her sword._

 

Cassandra found herself wondering if he had left this for her, specifically. She touched the flower. It was newly cut, not yet dried. Her suspicions were reinforced when she saw the book directly under the Chant of Light—it was the latest chapter of _Swords and Shields_.

She smiled, despite everything. For a man who had broken off their relationship and left without a word, Solas was awfully sentimental. 

Had he known she would come and look for him here, as she had when he had struck out on his own, after losing his spirit friend? That felt like a lifetime ago, now. It had been over a year. And, though she looked to the side door that led out to the battlements, she knew somehow that he would not appear, as he had then. 

Thrown over one side of his sofa were Solas’s well-born robes, the ones he had first arrived in, when he had come to Haven. They were the ones he favoured for most of their journeys, despite their frayed edges, and the several singe marks from when he had somehow managed to light himself on fire without anyone noticing but Vivienne, who since then had found every possible opportunity to remind them of it. 

Cassandra lifted his tunic to her face and buried her nose in the softness of the fur-lined collar. It smelled as he had: faintly of dark sweet cherry and woodsmoke. Even now, that simple reminder of him was a great comfort, and great pain. 

She knew he was not coming back this time.

 


	19. Dread Wolf's Heart

That night, each step he took could have spanned an age.

A dark wind seemed to carry him forward, after the battle with Corypheus, as he walked alone to the eluvian. Within it, the Crossroads waited, and within them, an old friend. The Temple had shown him that Mythal still lived. Now, he had found the way to her. The paths were open, now, and the People needed him...

There was not much left to give. He had given his Orb to Corypheus. His Mark to the Inquisitor. Then, he had done the unthinkable, and given away one more thing. He had given his heart to the Seeker, and now he was not sure he could ever take it back. 

He was no longer sure that what he was about to do would be enough to redeem him.  
  
There were some things he could change, and some things he could not. He could not change that he wanted to fall at Cassandra's feet and beg her for forgiveness, because hers was perhaps the only forgiveness he could believe in, the only kind that would ever matter to him; that could ever save him. He could not change that he had already imagined a life that ended in her arms, and with her name on his lips. But there was one thing he could change. The truth was that this terrible, beautiful world, this  _accident_ , was everything and nothing, and if it could be made, it could be  _unmade_.   
  
He could not change that he was the one who could unmake it.

_Oh, Cassandra._

Cassandra alone could have severed him from this spirit-bound duty. If he had given himself up, or begged her for it, would she have cut the cord that tied him to the past? He thought of the time he had wondered, for a fleeting moment, if she had made him Tranquil. It was what he had always flirted with: the idea that it might be better for everyone if he could finally let go, finally end it.

In this world, she alone could cleanse him, purge him, empty his soul of this ancient sin, and he had abandoned her... for _what_? For the path he feared most of all. A path he must walk without the comfort or reassurance of her at his side. Would he have left the Heavens sewn shut forever in her name, if he could have the wild burning baptism of making love to her, once more? Would he be able to resist asking her for it, if he ever saw her face again?

He forced himself to walk on, and at last he reached the stillness of the deepest Fade. There were realms so far removed that they remained unmarked to Dreamers. These were secret paths the Dread Wolf knew, from long, long ago. Here he could ponder in silence. Here he could greet the solitude that would be his last companion.

And here, at last  _alone_ , he said her name and wept.

He did not know that even here, deep in the ether of the Fade, the realness of her would be a weight within his heart.

 


	20. The Hanged Man

  
*  *  *

_Several Months Later, in Kirkwall_

*  *  *

 

The midnight streets of Kirkwall's Lowtown were wide and mostly empty, save for a cloaked and hooded figure who stalked the shadows of the decrepit buildings, until he spotted the tavern he was looking for and headed for its entrance. A crooked sign slung over the door read: THE HANGED MAN. 

It had taken over a year, but he had finally tracked Ava all the way here. She was going by the name Avarelle now, or maybe that really was her full name. He did not need to know. For the past several months she had been making her way in Kirkwall as a prostitute, and a thief. Or rather, a thief who stole from her whoring clients, securing what she wanted with some combination of stealth, blackmail, and violence—whichever suited her, he guessed. Who knew if she still kept any connections with the Qun. If she had, she was doing a good job of avoiding them, now.

Ava was expecting a client, tonight. A rich one. That part was not wholly untrue. He had spent good coin on arranging this illicit meeting. He had used the name of another man, of course. Then again, when did he not?

The cloaked man did not stop for a drink at the bar. He passed in silence through the loud, crowded barroom and went straight to the tavern's second floor, striding down a dim hallway.

“She’s there?” he asked the tall, heavyset guard who stood outside the room, holding the keys. He handed them to the pale, hooded man.

“Just like you for asked, sir.”

“Thank you,” said the hooded man, and ducked in through the doorway, swinging the heavy door shut behind him and locking the bolt tightly. He checked that the burly human mage had sealed the room with magic, as he had asked. He was pleased to find that the guard had done his job.

Ava was arranged on the bed, naked. She was blindfolded, and her wrists and ankles were shackled to the bedposts. Her long dark hair spilled onto the pillows beneath her. She had already been paid a handsome sum for this arrangement, and was promised even more when the night was over.

“Is that you?” she asked throatily, after the hooded man closed the door. His eyes lingered on her naked form for only a moment. Whatever meagre twinge of attraction he felt at the sight of her was not difficult to snuff out. “I’m all ready for you. Just like you wanted me. Isn’t that right, Duke Rivan?”

“That is exactly right,” the man said, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. “Exactly like I wanted you.”

“Do I… Have we met before, Duke?” The apple of her throat bobbed as she swallowed her uncertainty. “That lovely voice of yours sounds… almost familiar.”

“Does it, da’len?”

He watched her stiffen up reflexively. Her fingers twisted around the chains that held her as she tilted her blindfolded face toward the sound of his voice.

“ _Solas_? Is that you?”

“Ah. You did not forget me after all, Ava.”

Her chest rose and fell quickly now, her skin prickling with gooseflesh, but she had the gumption to try to play this off. It was the only move she had left, after all. He could hardly fault her for making it.

“Solas, why did you pay so much to get me on my back?” she asked, in as silky a voice as she could muster. Through the act, he could smell her fear. “You could have had me at Skyhold any time you wanted, free of charge.” She arched her back, putting her small, pert breasts on display. “How about taking this blindfold off, honey, so I can at least see that sexy face of yours again?”

He pressed the length of his obsidian staff against Ava’s exposed throat.

“What did you tell them?” he asked, pinning her airway under his staff and pressing downward carefully, to demonstrate her predicament to her. “What did you tell the Qunari, of the plans we discussed? Of the eluvian network?”

He waited a few seconds and released her throat.

“What did you _tell_ them, Ava?” he asked again, and waited for her to speak.

When she didn't answer, he heated the weapon’s surface to a boiling point and heard it sizzle brightly against her neck. Ava writhed against it, hands and feet incapacitated, whimpering and struggling in vain. When he finally relented, she gasped, tears running down her cheeks from under the blindfold that hid the soft, olive green eyes he did not want to see right now.

“Enough,” she begged, in a choked whisper. “Please, Solas…”

“Well?” he prompted.

“They were interested in the eluvians that led to the Winter Palace,” she sputtered, and bit back a sob. His mind raced.

“What do they want with Halamshiral?” he asked, with soft menace. She could only choke back a small cry.

The staff began to hiss once more against her already-charred skin.

“No-no!” she begged, crying in earnest now. He pulled the weapon back at the first sign of her compliance. “S-solas. I’m s-sorry…” She swallowed, gasping in pain. “I showed them how to open them. The ones you showed me… They were talking like maybe they wanted to use them for—I don’t know. Some kind of attack.”

“An invasion, then?” he asked, desperate for an answer.

“I don’t know. Please. Just let me out of here, Solas. Take this thing off of my face. I’ll tell you everything. You can do anything you want to me, just… Please. Just take it off and let me see you.”

Tears streamed down her face, wetting the pillows under her head. The skin of her neck was red and black and bubbling, burnt raw.

“Tell me,” he said, ignoring her pleas. “Were you loyal to the Qun all along? Before you even decided to work for me at Skyhold?” He did not try to hide the disappointment in his voice, nor the sadness. 

“I converted before I left Kirkwall. When I met you, and the other elves... I didn't want to—to betray you. I _had_ to do it, Solas,” she rasped. “They needed information. They wanted me to prove my loyalty.”

“And you did.” He looked on her with pity. He felt sick to his stomach. “Yet here you are, back in the Alienage, living the life you wanted to leave behind. I thought you wanted more for yourself. I thought you believed in the elves, Ava. In what we could achieve, together. It would seem you never even intended to see Fen'harel’s plans through.”

“ _Fen'harel’s_  plans...?” She coughed out a bitter, painful laugh. “You don’t really believe that horse shit they told us about Fen’harel, do you? No one ever got to meet the so-called Dread Wolf, did they? We were probably all working for some rich twat or another who just wanted to fuck with people. Not that it mattered. The coin was good, while it lasted. Wasn’t it? You got paid a pretty penny, didn’t you, Solas? Enough to afford _this_ , anyway…”

“You think I do any of this for the  _money_ , Ava?”

He rattled the cuff on her right hand against the headboard harshly. She gasped.

“Then what the fuck _is_ this about? You just like hurting people? What kind of sick bastard are you?”

Her words stung. This was the _last_ thing Solas wanted to do, but it was the only thing he _could_ do. She had sold his secrets to the Qunari, and it seemed Thedas may be in worse trouble than he had realized. He had needed to question her. If he had wanted to kill her, to make her suffer in any other way, that would have been infinitely _easier_. 

“You want to meet the Dread Wolf?” he asked, as he tore the blindfold off her face. She winced at first, then, trembling, she looked up at him, her tearful eyes shining in fear. He had pushed back the hood to reveal his distinct pointed ears.

“Just remember, da’len. I did not choose to cause you this pain. You chose this. _This_ is the will of the Qun.”

The man she called Solas's eyes were pupil-less and burning brightly in a purple-white glow, lit from within. Ava searched those otherworldly eyes for mercy where there was none.

“Please. I'm _sorry_...I didn't know. I can—I can… make it up to you. I swear. Forgive me. I didn't know  _you_  were _..._ "

The damage was done.

“ _Banal. Ir abelas_.”

The Dread Wolf dug deep into his pool of mana, and in a swift and brutal motion, Ava was turned to stone, and then dust.

The hooded man left Kirkwall some time in the night.

In the morning, the innkeeper found only four metal cuffs hanging, empty, around the bed posts. 


	21. Exalted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story picks up during the events of the Trespasser DLC.

* * *

**_Two Years After Corypheus's Defeat_**

* * *

 

"So. What do I call you now? Mrs. Rutherford?" Cassandra beamed at the young elven bride, tears of pride pricking the corners of her eyes. Ellana was the picture of beauty, in a simple white dress, her long auburn hair braided intricately on top of her head. The sunlight streamed down on the Winter Palace courtyard, where Cullen and Ellana had just been married in something of an impromptu, secretive ceremony, hastily put-together and presided over by Mother Giselle. 

"If you like. Though I kind of like 'Inquisitor Mrs. Rutherford', personally." Ellana laughed heartily, arm in arm with her new husband. Cullen's newest recruit, a stray Mabari hound the Commander seemed to have unofficially adopted, barked, rollicking happily at the newlyweds' feet.

"More likely, you'll be calling me  _Mister_  Ellana Lavellan." Cullen sighed, a wide smile creeping over his face and lighting it up with the sort of genuine joy Cassandra rarely saw gracing the Commander's serious features these days. Not that she had seen much of him at all in these last two years, since being named Divine. "Not that I'm complaining," Cullen added, and let out another little helpless laugh. Ellana kissed him, cupping his jaw. A cheer erupted from the small impromptu wedding party. The whole thing was supposed to be kept secret, but Leliana had hardly been able to keep them from having a few esteemed guests in attendance. Familiar faces. Varric, Dorian, Bull, Sera, Josephine, Leliana, and even Cole, were all there, though they were sworn to secrecy with regard to the union they had just witnessed. 

To have nearly every member of the Inquisition back together again was unheard of. Cassandra doubted if the Inquisitor's marriage alone would have been enough of a reason to get the old gang back together. Vivienne and Thom Rainier were also due to arrive later today. The wedding itself had been wholly unplanned, with Cullen's proposal coming out of the blue, but their meeting was very much expected. The reason they were all here at the Winter Palace, after all, was to partake in the Exalted Council, which Cassandra (now publicly known as Divine Victoria) had called. 

"I swear between everybody gettin' married, and gettin' titles... _Why_ can't _anyone_ we know have just _one_ name?" Sera complained, as they mingled in the courtyard. 

" _Red Jenny_ much?" Bull deadpanned. Sera looked up at the hulking Tal Vashoth indignantly. 

"But that's... that's...  _shit_ , you're right."

Bull adopted a smug stance. 

"Hypocrite."

"Arse biscuit."

"Now, now," Varric chided. "Behave, you two. Don't ruin their special day."

"Oh, they're not ruining it, Varric," Ellana insisted. "We could hardly call it an Inquisition wedding without some snide curses being exchanged."

"Ah," said the dwarf. "In that case I have a few choice words for Dorian. He nearly knocked out my teeth reaching to catch that damned bouquet."

"Oh, I barely grazed you. Still, I don't understand this bouquet toss thing." The Tevinter mage looked down his nose at the bunch of flowers he held. "Is it a Dalish thing?"

"No, it's Fereldan," Cullen corrected. "And I'm afraid we forgot to say that it's tradition for a _lady_ to catch the bouquet..."

"Oh. Well in that case, here you go." Dorian tossed the bundle of wildflowers to Divine Victoria, who caught it reflexively. "It's all yours,  _Most Holy_."

"Just _Cassandra,_ Dorian. Please. We are among friends," said Cassandra, smelling the bouquet and smiling. To them, she wished to always be Cassandra. The Seeker. She hoped they would not stand on ceremony too much around her. It was a relief to be once again among friends, and not the doting yes men of the Chantry. In her hooded traditional white robes, Divine Victoria was sweating buckets. Though, that may have been because she refused to go anywhere in public without wearing a full set of armour underneath them.

"Still," said Dorian. "I sort of worry those constant guards of yours are going to slit my throat in my sleep if I disrespect the Divine." He nodded toward the two silent, stone-faced guards who shadowed Cassandra nearly wherever she went. They stood, watching, a polite distance away. "They never _smile_. Are they Tranquil?"

"They are not Tranquil. They are just well-trained... Unlike that _dog_." Cassandra wrinkled her nose. The Ferelden hound was stepping all over the hem of Ellana's dress, though the Inquisitor didn't seem to mind.

"That's no way to talk about Curly, Most Holy. And on his _wedding_ day."

Cassandra put her hands on her hips and looked down at the dwarven rogue. She had barely had a chance to speak with Varric since briefly greeting everyone who had arrived. 

"Varric. _You_ haven't changed," she said.

"Of course I have. I'm Viscount of Kirkwall now. Haven't you heard?" He grinned. "Got the key to the City and everything."

Divine Victoria narrowed her eyes. 

"Why does this worry me."

"I dunno, Your Perfection. Maybe because you _know_ me?" Varric quipped.

"Do I?"

"Well, since you invited me all this way, I figured you'd at least want to spend some time catching up. Surely this 'Exalted Council' of yours was just an excuse to bump elbows, err--bump elbows into heads--with your _favourite_ rogue."

"Oy! Watchin' you, Tethras!" said Sera, turning and making a rude gesture most would not have dared in front of the Exalted Servant of the Maker. Cassandra remained unfazed. 

"Actually, it was an attempt to seek a resolution between Orlais and Ferelden, and determine the fate of the Inquisition," the Divine said to Varric, crossing her arms over her chest. "But, what you suggest sounds far more fun."

"Oh, come on. Don't sell yourself short. You always did know how to plan a party, Cassandra. Angry, disagreeing diplomats. Squabbling Ambassadors. Sitting around listening to a bunch of people who want us dead and gone from Thedas for good. Sounds like a recipe for excitement."

"We don't need a _recipe_ for excitement, Varric. It always has a way of finding us."

 

*

In her first two years since being named Divine, Cassandra had been a busy woman. In addition to her duties as Divine, she had seen fit to restore the Seekers. At first she had been hesitant, wondering if they should be disbanded for good, but she could not bring herself to abandon the opportunity to train specialists, armed with the truth, to serve the Chantry's interests. Reform was slow, and Cassandra was of a mind that she needed all the help she could get, including, and perhaps especially, martial assistance. She wanted the Chantry strong. A military force to be reckoned with. Though the Breach and been sealed, the world was still divided, and the Chantry could be a unifying force. Cullen had taken it upon himself to continue training Templars too. The Inquisition had new recruits, even now. Young warriors Cullen was teaching without the use of Lyrium. Anyone who wished assistance in weaning themselves off the substance was also welcome to his advice.

Lavellan and Cullen had retained residence in Skyhold permanently, and oversaw the Inquisition's management from there.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

Divine Victoria visited Skyhold only a handful of times in the last two years. It was always a relief to be back in armour again. Teaching, alongside Cullen and the recruits. The reassuring weight of a sword in her hand. She still trained everyday, of course, but she often did so in private. It would be unseemly, after all, for Chantry members to be sparring or crossing blades with the Most Holy, even in practise.

When she had those rare opportunities to work with Cullen, she had taken in the sight of the young Templar recruits, at first with some trepidation. Hers was most often a world of robed officials and quiet meetings. It came as something of a shock to see these soldiers' masculine physiques straining as they hefted swords and shields. There were a few chiselled, handsome faces among them. A few even bold enough to chat the Divine up, when she made it clear that she was not above such interaction. 

None of them interested her.

In fact, fewer and fewer people did. Their lives all seemed small, and bland. Their concerns, their burdens paled in comparison to hers. Templars she had known for years looked at her like a foreign creature. Even Josephine, when she spoke with her at Skyhold, treated her differently. Deferentially. If Cassandra had thought herself largely alone before, she knew now that there was a different kind of alone that came with being the single person of your rank, of your name. Even as The Seeker, she was one of many Seekers. Part of an Order. A brotherhood. A family. Here she was a channel to the Maker. A figurehead. One. 

She was no longer the Right Hand to Leliana's Left. She was the Head. She could not be just Cassandra to any of them. She was also Divine Victoria. And there was no going back. 

She moved within a new life, always behind a glass wall. She was exalted. Held apart. Regarded as something else, something more. She had not realized, perhaps, how much it would change everything, to be Divine. Yet she was certain that she would not have it any other way. She had never been particularly social anyway, save for her closest confidantes. Her privacy and ease were a small price to pay for the measured leadership of the Chantry, and for the opportunity to protect the values and the people she cared about. 

It was the fate from which Solas had tried to shield her. 

They had never heard from Solas, never found out where he went or why, after Corypheus's defeat. Cassandra did not speak of him anymore. Yet, she thought of him often. More often than she would readily have admitted. 

In her mind, she still heard his voice sometimes, advising her of this or that. Reminding her of what she had chosen. Tempering her, when she felt herself quick to anger or judge. Offering new perspective, but always telling her to trust her own wisdom and intuition, and not to doubt her own convictions. Occasionally, when out in the City or travelling somewhere, she would see a cloaked figure, at a distance, and she would think, for a fine sliver of a moment, that it could be him. Her heart would jump, then falter, then sink back into its reverie. 

She missed his laugh. The fading memory of its mirthful sound, somehow, was always what moved her to the deepest melancholy. She wondered, did Solas still find cause to laugh, wherever he was now? 

For the most part Cassandra lived in a body that pretended it had never loved him. That pretended at pureness and peace. Hers was a body pretending to no longer _be_ a body. Sworn to chastity, veiled in the guise of Holy sanctity, she was essentially untouchable.

It sometimes seemed that, as Divine, she was a fixed point in the centre of a whorl of confusion and violence. All around her, the world threatened to fall apart, and it was all Cassandra could do to mend it here and there. Every time she sewed a tear, it seemed a new tear appeared, and Orlais and Fereldan were, as always, at each other's throats, this time over the Inquisition's future. She knew she must act. Even knowing the outcome may not be what Lavellan, Cullen, and the rest hoped for—even knowing that they may be asked to concede power, even to disband altogether or become a force either for the Orlesian Military, or for Ferelden, she had to set the wheels in motion. The Council would decide much, in the coming days. 

The Winter Palace was a place that brought to mind certain memories Cassandra had tried hard to bury, for the last two years. 

Though she never spoke of it to anyone, in the nights leading up to the Exalted Council, Cassandra began to have strange dreams. First, she found herself within the Winter Palace ballroom, walking toward an eluvian. No matter how far she walked, the room seemed to extend forever, and the eluvian remained several paces away, so that she could never reach it. Then, in the dreams that followed, the blurring, torn edges Cassandra’s vision were visited by the figure of a wolf. Sometimes it was pale and passed by quickly. Sometimes it was only a shadow. But the lone animal’s silhouette was oddly familiar to her. Something about the ears struck her. Though he kept his distance, he was undeniably alert, watching out for her as she passed gently through the changing world of her dream. Did he guard the unknown fringes of her vision, ready to ward off danger? Or was _he_ the danger? The sign of things to come?

Whenever Cassandra tried to draw closer to him, or reach out for him, the wolf would melt away like sugar, and disappear.

 

 *

 

There was not much choice but to call a recess when the exalted council's first day of negotiations was interrupted by the discovery of a Qunari soldier's corpse, and a trail of blood that led to an active eluvian.

It seemed that excitement had found them after all. 

At the sight of the eluvian, Cassandra knew in her bones that Solas had something to do with this, though she couldn't explain how. They had never discovered all of the secrets of Skyhold's eluvian, and it had remained sealed and unused for these past two years. 

A party was soon assembled, and Cassandra accompanied the Inquisitor and the others through to the Crossroads, that place between places of which Morrigan and Solas had spoken. Despite the protests of her aides, Cassandra was quick to abandon the flowing robes of Divine Victoria, and journeyed now clad only in the bright, golden armour of the Divine that she wore, usually concealed, beneath the fabric of her official garb. 

The next morning, Cassandra woke, sweating, from another strange dream of a lone dark wolf, and this time the shadowy animal's eyes glowed with Veilfire.

The day was spent searching the paths to which the eluvian led. With the hasty discovery of a whole network of eluvians, an elven temple, and a Qunari plot to plant explosives in the Winter Palace, and elsewhere, the Council had been put on hold indefinitely, with Josephine doing her best to pacify the diplomats. 

Rumours of an ancient rebellion stirred here in the Elven temple, where the eluvian eventually led them.

Bound to duty, Cassandra's heart was nonetheless full of questions and hope and fear. The remaining members of the Inquisition soon realized they were chasing a shadow through the Crossroads, through the temple--through ancient time and memory itself. The shattered library, the Vir Dirthara, told of many things, and Cassandra could only accept with slow, calamitous realization, that this might be a part of what Solas had hidden from them, all along. The Qunari they found there spoke of a cloaked figure, and the Qunari corpses here were killed by magic, their faces frozen in terror. Cassandra knew who they would find, at the end of all this searching. Beyond Dragon's Breath, and the Viddasala's plot, there was someone else who had led them here. Someone with a plan. Someone who had called to her from beyond the Veil, whose memory was buried in her heart, a weight that would never leave. 

Cassandra lit the Veilfire torch across from a statue of the Dread Wolf and the stone wolf's eyes came to life, glowing with greenish flame. Cassandra stared into the glowing eyes, and their eerie light reflected in her own eyes like sparks of magic flickering at the bottoms of dark pools.

The strange dream she had... had it been something of a premonition?

"Cassandra," said Lavellan, finally. "Is everything alright?"

Cassandra tore her eyes from the statue's reluctantly. 

"It is just... Let us move on."

Within the Vir Dirthara, the keepers of this ancient library waited, suspended between the waking world and the Fade. Here they found a half-ruined library with scattered books, elven statues, murals amid rubble. Cyclopian masonry formed towering islands floating in the air, interconnected with eluvians.

Dorian turned to the group, thoughtfully.

"If the Evanuris really were mages... then the elven gods are basically magisters."

Sera's eyes widened a little, and she nearly laughed.

"The Dalish. Are going. To shit themselves."

Ellana shot her a weary glance. 

"I... think one of them already has."

Dorian squinted.

"I just can't be su--"

" _Agh_!" Ellana cried out in sudden pain, and clutched at her Marked hand. It crackled with uncontrollable energy. "Get back," the elven mage warned, her eyes desperate with pain and confusion. 

Green Fade energy, electric and wild, arced and fizzed out from her, until she screamed and it discharged massively in a dangerous pulse.

Ellana fell to her knees, panting and gritting her teeth. Cassandra rushed to her side. 

When Ellana looked up at the Divine, she had tears in her eyes.

"It's... getting worse..."

*

Two things soon became clear. First, the Mark was killing Ellana; secondly, Solas  _was_  involved in all of this, in more ways than one; the eluvian network was one he used, these elven spies in the Inquisition were _his_ , and the name _Dread Wolf._.. that was who the Qunari believed Solas served. In the Vir Dirthara, the Viddasala mentioned Solas as an agent who had disturbed the Qunari plans. Cassandra, however, suspected his involvement went further than that. Based on what they had found out about Fen'Harel and his rebellion in the temples, and the library, and everything she knew about Solas, it seemed that Solas may actually _be_ the Dread Wolf.

It all fit together too well. Her suspicions had been circling this truth for years, but she had never had enough information to assemble the full picture.

He was remembered as a mythic figure out of Elven legend, but he had once been a man who freed his people from slavery to would-be Gods. And now, for whatever reason, he was working to prevent the Qunari invasion. What were his motives? Just as he had once deceived the gods, he had deceived the Inquisition, letting all of them think he was merely a mage, when he was so much more. The details were still missing—how had he survived since those days of old? In uthenera? Then what or who had woken him?

Regardless of what the answers were, Cassandra knew that she had failed. For over a year with him among them, she had been too blinded by what she felt for him, too impressed with his contributions to the Inquisition's cause, and with his many talents, to lock him up and question him like she knew she should have. 

And now, If the Mark was truly killing the Inquisitor, then Solas was the only one who could save her.

*

 

As they healed, regrouping back at at the Winter Palace, Cassandra and the others readied themselves to go back through the eluvian. They had no choice but to pursue Solas and the Viddasala, the leader of the Qunari, intent on killing the elf who had ruined her plans. Back at the Palace, Lavellan pulled Cassandra aside. The newly married Inquisitor was pale and gaunt. The burden of the Mark had never been more evident. Cullen was a mess. Ellana's life lay in the balance and no one yet knew which way the scales would tip. Still, she was determined, as if her will only sharpened with the urgency of their mission.

"I... have to tell you something," said Ellana. "And you're not going to like it."

"Well, let us not waste time," Cassandra replied. "What is it?"

"I have to ask you to stay at the Winter Palace. You know the Mark is getting worse. We have to act now... I'm going back to the Darvaarad. I'm going after Solas. But you... Leliana, Josephine... Cullen. I need all of you here. If anything were to happen to me... _you_ are the leader the people need. They cannot afford to lose the Inquisitor and the Divine in one night. And Thedas cannot afford to lose _another_ Divine."

Cassandra remained silent. Ellana was right; she did _not_ like hearing this. But, it was true. She _was_ Divine. Duty came first. This was the path she had chosen. She had to think of the people. 

"I... understand," said Cassandra, finally. 

"I'm sorry." Ellana placed a hand on Cassandra's arm for a moment, gently. "I know that's not what you would want. Two years ago I would have balked to go in there without you fighting at my side. But I need you here. Bull's got my back. And I'll take Dorian, and Cole."

"There is no need for apologies, my friend," Cassandra assured her. "The future of Thedas is more important than my pride. On that, I think we both agree." She smiled, a little sadly. "You have grown wise, Ellana. No matter what happens, you should know that you have been a good leader. And—a good friend." Cassandra felt her throat constrict momentarily, and pushed back the swell of emotion as best she could. 

"Come here you big softie," said the Dalish mage, and and pulled Cassandra into a firm embrace. Cassandra hugged her back, glad for the warmth of her embrace. But when the Inquisitor pulled away, there was an urgent look in her shadowed eyes.

"There's one more thing, Cassandra." Ellana swallowed. "I need you to promise me something." The elf took a deep breath. "If the Mark... If I don't make it out of this alive... just take care of Cullen, for me. He won't know how to take it if I..." She fell silent, her eyes wide with sorrow. 

"You have my word he will be kept safe," said Cassandra. "And you know he will not touch lyrium again, as long as I live."

"Thank you, Cassandra. Sometimes I think you're really his only real friend. He can't afford to lose that. After the Tower, and after Kirkwall, he lost everyone. And his family is so far away, I think he barely finds time to write to them. I know you have the whole Chantry at your disposal, but what he needs isn't the watchful eye of the Order... It's a friend. It's you. Not the Divine. Just... you."

"Cullen will _always_ have my friendship, Ellana. As will you."

The younger woman frowned, her fine features suddenly grave. 

"You will find Solas," Cassandra assured her. "You _will_ make it to him, before the Viddasala does. And he will be able to treat the Mark. You must believe that. You should go. Quickly."

"Yes... Thank you, Cassandra. For everything."

The mage turned to go, then hesitated for a moment, turning back. 

"If... _when_ I get to Solas, do you... want me to tell him anything?" Ellana asked, quietly.

Cassandra hesitated, only for a moment.

"No. I want you to let him deal with the Mark. And then I want you to drag his lying ass back here so I can _kill_ him."

 


	22. Last Dance

Cassandra lay awake in her guest bedroom at the Winter Palace. The enormous king-sized bed she occupied was set in a spacious, lordly room reserved for the Divine. The room's furnishings were gilt and glittering, embarrassingly expensive. Cassandra stared at the ceiling for a long while, feeling numb.

Today, Lavellan had returned, alive and freed from the Mark. 

The Dread Wolf had taken back what was his. The loss of Lavellan's whole arm was, Solas had said, the only way.

After she had returned, Ellana had taken Cassandra aside, and told her all that Solas had spoken of. Ellana had explained what Solas' had told her of his past. 

Cassandra's head felt heavy, spinning with the thought that Solas would go so far as to _end_ their world. That all of this, that all of them, could be reduced, in his mind at least, down to _his mistake_. Was that all they were, to him? She did not want to believe it. She could not believe it.

Cassandra turned over in bed, trying to find a more comfortable position.

This room, with its fireplace and Orlesian decorations, was not unlike the guest bedroom she and Solas had first shared a night in, over two years ago. Was it really more than _two_ years? Cassandra could barely believe how much time had passed. And yet, even now, in light of what she had just learned about Solas and The Dread Wolf, she thought of that first night after the Ball.   
  
He had tricked her, and made her feel like a fool.

Solas had been so careful with her, so _gentle_ , that she had let her guard down. Now she knew she was exactly the person she was afraid she was. A fool. Too quick to fall in love, and too blinded by what she had felt to see the mage for the threat he truly was.

This world was not a place where romance could flourish, not for her. Cassandra knew now that in that short time with Solas, she had strayed into a dream, and she could not afford to stay there any longer. 

Rolling over and sighing, she gave up any hope of sleeping.

It was the darkest, stillest hour of night. Cassandra levered herself off of the bed and moved the heavy brocade curtain aside to look out of her window at the stars. Her warm breath misted the pane. It was autumn, and now the nights were crisp and cold. Beyond the glass, all was still and black. She reached out her hand and touched the glass, half expecting to pass through it, as she had with the eluvians. But her hand only rested against the solid surface of cold, real glass, leaving a misty outline when she took it away.

Cassandra went to the wardrobe and changed out of her silk sleeping robe, pulling on a simple pair of breeches, a loose-fitting robe, and a long casual jacket. She cinched the garments at the waist with a cloth belt, and, erring on the side of caution, slung the lightest of her swords and its leather scabbard over one shoulder, hefting it on her back, just in case. She eased her bare feet into her boots.

As an afterthought, she slipped a small dagger down the side of one boot for good measure, and went quietly out of her door into the silent hall. She frowned in surprise. The single guard who had been regularly posted at her door was conspicuously missing. That was odd. She had been expecting to have to convince the man to let her slip off on her own for a while, or, more likely, suffer through having him follow her around as she walked the grounds. It was rare for Cassandra to be without a guard. Glancing both ways down the hall, she made sure he was truly gone.

It seemed there was some small bit of luck left for her, after all.

She had originally thought to walk out to the gardens, but her feet carried her down a different path. One she had not intended to take.

Or, perhaps she _had_ , in some way.

Cassandra wandered through the dim palace halls and wings, finding her way to the moonlit library and eventually, after trying a few doors, she found one that led into the grand gallery and the Winter Palace's immense, deserted ballroom.

She had revisited this ballroom in dreams, many times. To be here now, awake, was like walking, waking, through a memory.

The yawning, high-ceilinged room was dark, though not pitch black, since the clear night sky’s moon and starlight leaked in from each of the great windows lining the outer borders of the room. Moonlight bathed the golden statues and gilded walls. Not a single torch was lit, and the looming unlit chandelier glittered coldly above her. Only the silver-grey moonlight lit the gleaming ballroom floor and cut the shapes of the stairs and bannisters out of the darkness.

Cassandra padded slowly down the stairs to the ballroom floor. She could see her own murky, shadowed reflection in the floor's polished, gleaming surface. Movement, a ways ahead of her, in the deep shadow by the wall, caught her attention. Her muscles twitched, ready to react. Adrenaline, and a Seeker's will twined and surged in her veins.

Leaning against the wall, below the railing that overlooked the ballroom floor was a figure in a dark cloak, merely a deeper shadow in the darkness that surrounded him.

Cassandra’s hand reached up and over her shoulder, closing slowly over the hilt of her sword. She drew it slowly, carefully.

At the sound of the steel dragging against the leather scabbard, the figure on the ballroom floor stirred. The outline of a dark hood was backlit for a moment. Was this her missing guard, perhaps?

“Who is there?” Cassandra called out to the deeper darkness under the hood. Her blade was at the ready now, in a steady hand. Steel glittered in moonlight. “Show yourself!”

The figure pushed back the hood of his cloak, stepping forward, and Cassandra saw the unmistakable silhouette of two delicately pointed ears and the dome of a bald head. Her breath stopped and she tightened her grip on the sword’s hilt.

She could only stare for a moment in utter disbelief.

“Solas?” Her voice came out far more softly than she expected.

He turned his head a little, and she saw his features more clearly illuminated: the familiar curve of his cheek cut out in sharp relief, eyes glinting for a moment as he moved toward her, shifting his weight.

It was him.

All at once, Cassandra’s body came alive with fire and purpose. With holy vengeance. The Wrath of Heaven stirred in her. She was a Seeker, and she could hear and feel and smell and taste the mage's blood with every ounce of her power.

She rushed at him with the force of a tidal wave, a swathe of Seeker’s energy around her. Her sword raised, Cassandra lunged toward Solas.

Solas was surrounded in a barrier like none she had ever known him to cast, more solid than it ever should have been. Her blow was repelled, before it could even land. A strike that would have ended him before, and a force that would have severed them both from the Fade in a second, glanced off of the shielded air around Solas like rain against glass.

It seemed Cassandra could do nothing to affect his magic. His blood, so close, pumping through him in a way that pulsed against her aura, had not a trace of Lyrium within it. There was nothing for her to grip. Nothing for her to powers to grab hold of. His essence slipped through her fingers like sand... As if all of Solas fell away, out of her reach, like something slippery and quicksilver.

Cassandra was left reeling from the way her sword had glanced off of him.

Whatever he had done in these years since she had last seen him, he had become stronger than her. Much stronger.

“I will _end_ you…” She grunted, raising the sword and desperately searching for some part of his power to grip, so she could tear it to shreds. And yet, all at once, she felt her arms stopped fast, frozen mid-swing. She could do nothing.

“Will you? It seems you will have to try harder, Most Holy,” Solas suggested, his voice only a whisper against the flood of her efforts.

She let out a helpless angry grunt, pinioned by the grip of his magic.

Solas raised one elegant hand in the air and warped the Veil around her. She felt the force of the Fade against her skin like a prickling breeze. But it pushed her back like a hurricane-force wind. She stumbled, struggling to keep her footing.

Warding her off seemed to take no effort on Solas' part, as if suppressing everything she had took only the force of resting his thumb on a pouring spout to stop the flow. Whatever power he now had, she was no longer any match for him. Cassandra had never before faced a mage whose powers could negate her own. The idea that this was even possible frightened her to the core. 

How many Templars or Seekers would it take to rein him in now? Were there even enough in the world? 

Cassandra could see Solas a little better now—his face was three-quarters bathed in soft moonlight. The look in his eyes was not what she expected to see.

He looked... disappointed.

Cassandra’s brow furrowed in effort.

 _Why_ was he here?

Perhaps he had come here to test the limits of her power over him? Perhaps he had wanted, hoped even, that a Seeker’s strength might still best him, might strip him dry and leave him panting for the Fade, dizzy once more with the heady pull of the reality only she could ground him in fully. But if that was the case, why would he risk his own failure just to find out? Surely that was too reckless. 

In one last effort, Cassandra pushed forward and threw everything she could at the elven mage, all of her power at once. In the dim and empty ballroom he rebuffed her will as if it took no energy at all. Her sword left her hand and flew back, flung into the wall behind her, where it stabbed through the surface and stayed, buried half to the hilt. Solas did it with the subtlest wave of his hand.

She stared, empty-handed, at the still-vibrating sword embedded in the wall, and cried out in desperate anger, moving to throttle Solas with her bare hands if she had to. He caught her by the arm. She had not expected he would let her get this close.

Face to face with her rage, his face was calm.

“Sshh. _Cassandra_. _”_

His voice was maddeningly soft.

She yanked her arm from his sudden, alarming grasp.

“Let _go_ of me…”

“ _Hush_. Do you wish to risk drawing someone’s attention to us? That would not end well,” Solas cautioned.

They looked at one another for an odd, tense moment, locked still in a twining of wills. They were no longer simply Cassandra and Solas. Here in the shadows of the ballroom, they were the Divine and the Dread Wolf, and they were, it seemed, still locked in a dance.

“End well? For _whom_?” Cassandra asked, narrowing her eyes. She thought of the dagger concealed in her boot. 

“For anyone,” Solas replied crisply. “I take no joy in doing what I must.”

Cassandra watched him, trying to measure just how much of him was still what she remembered, and what she wished he could remain. Thedas was as it was, and it was full of people whose lives mattered. They were not a world of Tranquil. They were real. And they did not deserve their accidental creator’s promise of destruction, simply to appease the will of one man whose privileged magical existence did not include them. 

"This is not about how you _feel_. Solas, do not make this world suffer for your mistake. The choice to create the Veil was yours, and so are the consequences. You alone do not get to decide what to sacrifice and what to sanctify."

"Oh no, I suppose that would be  _your_  job now, Most Holy _._ "

"That is different..."

"It absolutely is not."

“ _You_ are talking about the whole world! The man I _thought_ I knew would not have taken the lives of others so lightly,” she snapped, though she felt dangerously close to tears.

“Then you misunderstand me,” Solas assured her, his quiet voice every bit as wonderful as she remembered, even now. She had ached to hear it again, but not like this… “I do not take any life lightly. I take them only when necessary, in defence of my own life, and of my people. Those in my way do not suffer. It is quick. Painless, even."

“Is that supposed to make it _excusable_?” Cassandra pressed.

“No.” He caught her eye in a way that made her jaw tighten. “But it is true.”

Their sudden physical closeness made Cassandra grit her teeth against the heady fog of desire for him.

“You have some nerve, showing up here,” she whispered coldly. Solas looked away, silent. “How did you know I would be here?” she asked.

“I didn’t. But I… suspected.”

“ _Why_ have you come?” she demanded.

Solas tipped his glance up toward her after a moment, and she saw something in his expression soften in a way that made it very hard to hate him as much as she wanted to.

“Because you deserved the chance to say goodbye.” He looked suddenly very sad, and very old. “Because… I have not forgotten you,” he added, softly.

The way he looked at her now, she could plainly see that secret promise of their mutual desire, that long-suppressed tenderness in him, that mirrored her own. It had been two years. _Maker._ And that look in his eyes… It made her knees weak. Made her ache where she needed him, made her _throb_ for him.

 _Damn it_. 

Cassandra slapped him across the cheek. Hard.

She knew he would let her.

He winced a little against the blow but stood still, breathing hard, as the reddening mark of her hand blossomed across his pale cheek. Solas offered no resistance. No retaliation.

Before he had a chance to think, she slapped him again, harder this time.

His face was flushed, surprised... 

“Cassandra…” His breathy voice sounded thick with desire.

She shook her head.

“You bastard. You _fool_.”

“Please,” was all he could utter, and she knew what he was asking for. She knew beyond any doubt. That begging look in his grey-violet eyes, the way he licked his lower lip and looked like he might break into a whine for her touch. Oh. She knew.

“Solas,” Cassandra said, and his eyes flicked to meet hers. Quick. Eager. “I _know_ what you want. You want what you have always wanted from me. Punishment. I am surprised you did not come straight to my  _bed_ ,” she goaded. Solas, her former lover, the Dread Wolf, stepped close. She was not certain if it was a threat or an invitation.

“I considered it,” he admitted, in a voice surprisingly level and confident for a man she knew to be on the brink of collapse. She swallowed hard.

For a lingering moment she thought he would grab her and kiss her; he was standing so close, his eyes trained on her face with a tense, tightly reigned desire. Maker knew no power of hers could have stopped him from taking anything he wished. But, finally Solas turned from her and paced the floor, hands clasped behind his back. 

That was... interesting.

She may not have known everything about him, but Cassandra did know one thing about Solas with sudden, clear certainty: for all his careful deceit, he was still as helpless as ever to hide the truth in his heart. He was waiting, still. He waited for _her_ permission. Even now.

Solas could now turn living flesh to unfeeling stone with a glance; he could enter the Fade at will; influence the dreams of others; warp the elements of this world as easily as he could the dreamworld; but he could not play very well at indifference. He hid many things, but desire and tenderness he could never hide well enough. So he was called the Dread Wolf--whatever that truly meant--but of course he would not take her by force. No. He would cling to his warped idea of his own decency, even now.

“If you would prefer it, then I will go. You have only to say the word,” Solas whispered, still wound up so tight with two years of waiting. It showed in every muscle, every tight breath.

Seeing him like that was difficult. There was little in the world more tempting than testing the limits of Solas’s restraint... yet, now that game had become a far more dangerous one. Something dark and truly sinful uncurled itself inside Cassandra. The last time she had been intimate with a man had been when he had taken her against the wall at Skyhold. She couldn't help but think of it. 

 _Come to my bed,_ Cassandra wanted to say aloud, her heart pounding against the collar of her shirt as she looked at him, tasting the lust in her mouth. _Come and I’ll punish you in all the ways you want…_

She knew he would obey in silence, follow at her heel. The power she had over Solas went far beyond a Seeker’s. She had his heart, and that was more than anyone else could say. She could have him under her. He was hers and only hers to take, and she could make him remember it. She could take him to the very edge. Deny him. Leave him senseless. Show him he was wrong. Make him admit it… on the brink of orgasm, perhaps… Make him _see_ …

Cassandra considered it all.

There was a problem, though, of a moral nature.

To admit she wanted him now would be admitting she would lay with a man bent on tearing down their world. Solas had made it abundantly clear to Lavellan that whatever he had planned meant the end of Thedas as they knew it. The idea of somehow just _fucking_ him into changing his mind, while appealing to Cassandra, was surely nothing but a fantasy. He would never give up the chance to restore the empire of his time.

He would always have control now, if he wanted it. She knew it, he knew it, and it was what ruined everything.

He was watching her still, in a kind of shameful, teetering silence.

She stepped closer to him. Watched the way his body tensed. His eyes locked on her, dark with desire.

When it came to it, Cassandra knew Solas had already chosen his fate. He had known all along. He had been tempted, but he had never been swayed from what he understood to be his duty. Solas was expecting her to give in and bed him one last time, she realized. His taut silence was anticipatory. Entitled. And there was nothing left to do but put him in his damned place.

“In the last two years,” she said, stepping ever closer to Solas's backlit form. “Have you wanted me? Have you missed me?”

Solas could only look back at her in a pulsating silence for a moment. She knew the question would catch him off guard. 

"Yes," he said finally, as though saying it broke him a little. Made it real for him. 

Moonlight spilled over his cloaked shoulders. She stepped into the pool of his shadow.

“Tell me.”

“I...” he wavered. "No... Cassandra, please, it won't-"

" _Tell_. _Me_."

Solas finally went on, with difficulty.

"Every day. Every... _moment..._ I have thought of no other woman, Cassandra." Solas allowed his voice to drop down to a low shade she could barely hear. "My heart has never changed."

Cassandra felt her own heart flinch.

Her fingertips reached for his lips and brushed over them. His mouth opened like a flower to her softest touch, and she let herself slide her thumb between his teeth. His head tipped back slightly, and he _almost_ moaned. She watched his throat bob as he grasped her other hand in his before it could slip between his thighs.

His other hand found her wrist and coaxed her fingers from his lips half-heartedly. 

“Solas.”

He swallowed visibly.

“Yes?"

She sensed the anticipation hitching in his breath. 

Perhaps, had Cassandra been one ounce less of the woman she was, she would have taken him there and ruined both of them forever. But she was Cassandra Pentaghast. She was Divine. And it was clear now that the only power she had left over Solas was the power to deny him, and not just _play_ at it.

Truly _deny_ him.

“You will never have me again," she told him. "Not until you _promise_ me one thing. One thing only, Solas. Promise me you will _stop_ this. This _plan_ of yours. Promise me you will _end_ it.”

She could see the conflict move through him in waves. He wanted to give in. All that power, and he wanted to give it all up. He knew it was too much. He knew he shouldn’t have it. One man could not carry the weight of the world. But Solas, stubborn bastard that he was… he would try.

And he would undoubtedly suffer for it. 

“I’m sorry,” Solas said, regret filling his shining eyes. “You ask me for the only thing I must deny you, Cassandra.”

Her gaze slid over his tightly armoured abdomen, down over his thighs, and elsewhere... 

Another woman might have slid her hand between those firm legs, laid her hand against his armour and felt the warmth and shameful hardness straining against his clothing... But Cassandra's fingertips grasped him suddenly by the ear, making him take one sharp, hard breath. She massaged his earlobe, very softly, and she watched his jaw slacken and heard the helpless, gracious, tiny hiss of air leave his lips. It could hardly be called a moan, and yet...

“Then you would deny yourself _all_ pleasure?" she asked him.

"If that is what it takes," he whispered. 

She took hold of his other ear too.

"Just _say it_.” She had each of his flushed, naked ears between her thumbs and forefingers. She squeezed and pulled downward. She knew for Solas it was sweet torture, a pleasing violation that he endured. For all it mattered to Solas, it might as well have been the head of his cock. He tried to step back from her touch and found his back against the ballroom wall. She heard a tremor in his breath that stoked the darkest part of her heart. "Give up the fight, and I will _end_ your suffering," Cassandra whispered succulently. "Give it up. Let me give you what you _need_.” 

His cheeks flushed. So did hers. She hardly knew she could be so persuasive, when pushed. She had never _had_ to know. These were new tactics.

“ _No_ ," Solas said, firmly, as his fingers closed around each of her wrists in gentle warning. "You know I can't. Do not ask me to lie to you."

His hands were cold around her wrists.

"Lying to me did not seem to bother you, before."

"I never _lied_ to you, Cassandra. Only by omission..."

He eased her hands away from his head, holding her at bay in the most careful, gentle way.

“Oh? And yet the man I thought you were—he never existed, did he? _He_ was a lie. It was _all_ a lie. You never… you never even thought of us as _people_.”

“Not at first, no,” he admitted, if a little reluctantly. Cassandra could only shake her head in anger and disbelief. “But… in time...” Solas continued, and his voice softened. “You showed me a great deal, Cassandra. And you saw more than most. You changed—everything. I never expected it. What we had…”

“Whatever we _had_ is over, Solas," she said harshly. “Speak no more of it.”

If her sword could not cut him down, and he refused to submit to her ultimatum, perhaps words were all she had left.

There was a moment of tense silence, between them, while he searched her eyes, tenderly, _needily_.

Then he let go of her wrists, and let his hands fall to his sides.

Cassandra did not quite know what to make of this.

The game had reached a stalemate.

“As you wish,” he said finally, though his voice was barely there. He looked, suddenly, like someone had snuffed out the light in his downcast eyes. Solas looked up at her then with something she recognized as the hardened resolve of a soldier who puts the mission before himself. A dissonance rose in Cassandra’s heart. 

It hurt too much, to be torn like this, between love and hate at once. She had to admit, the choice Solas had been dealt was not an easy one...

Why could nothing be simple?

It had been easier, at first, to think him callous and cold. Inhuman. A trickster. A villain. Someone she hardly knew. But now, she could not doubt him. Not now. To see him like this was enough. She knew. She knew he didn't _want_ to do this. He truly thought he had no choice but to let her world burn.

Maker. A wise man was the worst kind of fool.

"You should forget me, Cassandra," Solas cautioned, his voice a husk of what it once was. "You deserve someone who can make you happy."

Then Solas moved past her insistent presence, leaving the wall and striding out toward the staircase, shoulders low, boots striking the ballroom floor.

“Solas. Solas, _wait_.”

He turned back into the moonlight.

“We... have been here before,” she said, quietly. Solas stood still, facing her in the middle of the vast, dim ballroom.

"I remember, Seeker."

No one called her that anymore. It felt good to hear it. 

Cassandra held out one arm to him, as he had to her, once.

“A last dance, Solas," she said. 

Solas hesitated, unsure. Then, he stepped toward her outstretched hand, and took it. 

Slowly, carefully, he placed his free hand on her waist. They pressed a little closer, and paired up, as though for a slow waltz. 

Being here, being back in his arms in this room, was all at once familiar and strange.

"It does not seem so long ago," Solas said, very softly, as they moved together, cheek to cheek, hand in hand. "Not now."

Solas shut his eyes, and exhaled quietly, as they danced. If you could call it dancing. Their feet barely moved. 

Cassandra drank in the moment. She wanted to kill the wolf and take back the man. Slay the beast and yet be taken by it… She wanted to serve him like she wanted to serve the Maker himself. She wanted him to take her as the Dread Wolf, put a violent end her celibacy. Yet even as she wanted that, she wanted his supplication. His shattering defeat. She wanted to punish him, soothe him, kill him, please him, fuck him, save him: these desires were all tied together now, in a knot inside her throat, all somehow one in the same.

Arm in arm, they danced, slowly, simply. Hardly moving. Their gentle footfalls barely making a sound against the floor.

Solas opened his eyes finally.

“I admit,” he said, after a moment. “I did not think this was how the night would advance. Your anger, I expected. But not this.”

“Well, I cannot kill you, clearly, otherwise this may have gone very differently," she said.

“You’ve earned your anger, Cassandra.” As they danced, he held her hand gently in his just as he had those years ago.

"I know. But what harm could there be in a dance between enemies?" Cassandra mused. 

"Enemies?" Solas tested the word out, as though the idea had not occurred to him.

"That is what we are now, is it not?" Cassandra asked.

Solas was silent for a time. 

"If we are enemies, then Death at your hands would be mercy I do not deserve, Cassandra.” His eyes were suddenly downcast. “I walk the _Dinan’shiral_. Believe me when I say death lies only a little further down this path. You will not have to wait long."

“Is that so?” she asked, searching his eyes desperately for a lie, for a bluff that was not there.

He nodded, swallowing visibly. His stiff hand on her waist relaxed a little. She could feel his hand that was in hers now glowing warm against her palm. He was close enough, too, that she felt his body rise and press upwards, of its own volition. She realized suddenly that _she_ had been leading this merest of dances. Solas, in her arms, had been supple, barely present, weighted with a sadness not of this world.

Only now did he seem to realize that he was here, that he was alive. 

“Maker, look at us,” Cassandra said. “How far we have come from… poetry. We were so... innocent, the first time we did this.”

“No one is innocent,” Solas said, softly. From anyone else, the statement would have seemed overdramatic, but from Solas, crisp and matter-of-fact as always, it was spoken as a stark truth. “Or, perhaps everyone is.”

“You must think me a fool," she whispered.

“Cassandra,” he said, holding her a little tighter. “In this case, the fault is mine. I should never have let you love me.”

Cassandra shot him an obstinate look.

“I would have loved you, whether you ‘let’ me or not,” she assured him.

Solas made a hopeless sound that could have been either a stifled sob or choked-back laugh.

Cassandra rested one hand on the back of his head, and held it gently against her shoulder. He fell silent, for a time, allowing her to comfort him as their tender dance ground to a glacial pace and she simply held him in her arms. She heard him breathe out, long and shaky, near her ear.

He lifted his head, and his sad gaze rose to meet hers. In the pure pale moonlight that spilled in from the ballroom’s windows, she recognized the perfect kindness in his eyes that she had seen the first time she met him, at Haven. It had been the first quality she had taken any note of, and perhaps it had always been the one that had made her trust him, however reluctantly. Before she had even heard him speak, or measured him up as a mage, she had seen only this sympathetic capacity, clear as day, staring back at her from those eyes she had come to love. She saw that same kindness in his eyes now, and despite everything, it gave her a sliver of hope for him.

Maybe, _maybe_ he could be convinced, somehow...

Then the clear shaft of light from the windows disappeared, masked now behind the gathering thick cloud, and she could no longer see his face clearly. They were dancing in the dark, now.

Had their positions been reversed, and _she_ had woken in a world of only demons and spirits, where humans were enslaved and abused, a world of  _her_ making, would she not have done anything in her power to return the world to how it was? 

“Solas,” said Cassandra, gently. 

He could only make a soft noise in return.

“I cannot forgive you.”

“I know,” he whispered back.

She felt the warmth of his breath. The gentle press of his hands: one in hers; one on her waist. His face so near to hers. Years ago, in this very place, he had been bold enough to seduce her in a crowded room; now, alone in the dark, with nothing and no one to stop him, he was unfailingly polite.

She wondered why she did not take a chance then, in the sudden darkness, to slit his trusting throat.

Cassandra started at sudden movement, on the balcony overlooking the ballroom floor.

“Solas…" She stopped. "There is someone up there…”

“Ah," was the mage's calm reply, even as Cassandra's hand flexed tight around his. "Cole.”

She released Solas, and they parted from their embrace.

“ _Cole_?” Cassandra exclaimed, looking up at the shady figure by the railing, looking out from under the brim of his hat.

"Hello."

He waved.

“What are you doing here, Cole?” Cassandra asked him, warily.

“I'm talking to _you_ ,” Cole said, helpfully. “Did you wonder where your guard went, Cassandra?”

“I… assume you know.”

“I made him forget. Then I made him sleep. He’s sleeping now. But he won’t remember why, in the morning. He will probably apologize. But you shouldn’t be mad at him.”

“I—suppose I should thank you then, Cole," Cassandra said. She supposed if they could count on anyone to enable this sort of ill-advised secret midnight tryst, it was Cole.

“You don’t have to," Cole said, kindly. He looked down at them, his features difficult to read. "Solas. It’s time.”

“Time?" Cassandra echoed.

"For us to leave, I imagine," said Solas. "Cole had... discussed this with me."

"Cole... _you_ are leaving? But _where_ are you going?” Cassandra asked, though she feared she already knew the answer. Cole had stayed a spirit, after all. 

“Back to the Fade,” Cole offered, apologetic, as though he knew the news would hurt her. “If I probe, the pain is plainer, new, and I don't have to _strain_ there,” Cole added vaguely. “I can _help_. Here I'm getting faint, feeling _less_ , falling farther. The Fade is for me.”

Cassandra looked up at the pale boy in his odd wide-brimmed hat, and though she had thought her heart already fully broken, she felt it crack a little deeper.

“I see. In that case… I... will miss you, Cole.” Cassandra’s voice wavered in the dark.

“Yes. You will." Cole smiled sadly. "But, you’ll miss Solas more. I don't mind, though." His eyes flicked to Solas for a moment, and his brow furrowed. "Solas... _does_ mind."

Cassandra and Solas exchanged a brief, knowing glance.

"Cole could make you... _forget_ , Cassandra. If you wanted to.”

"I _could..._ but you don't want to.” Cole looked between them."You _both_ want to remember, even though it hurts..." Cole's brow furrowed. He glanced around them at the empty ballroom and sighed. “There are too many feelings, in this room. The room will be _glad_ , when we go.”

The clouds had shifted. There was just enough light for Cassandra and Solas to see one another once more.

Cassandra could only pull him into her arms one last time.

"I will stop you," she promised, tears filling her eyes.

"I know you will try,” he said into her shoulder as she held him. He squeezed her hands in his as they parted. “I would treasure the chance to be proven wrong once again, my friend,” he admitted. The smile that curled at his lips was bittersweet, a ghost of its usual mirth. Solas stared at her, close enough to kiss her, and yet something was different now, and they both understood that it would not go back to how it had been. 

His mouth had always seemed to simply fit into hers, as if it was made for the task of kissing her. She wondered if it still would. 

Solas turned away to ascend the stairs. He joined Cole, who had witnessed the entire thing in a well-meaning, if slightly puzzled, silence. When Solas reached the top of the stairs, he turned back for a moment. A tear sped down his cheek, and he did not bother to wipe it away. He just looked at her for a terrible moment, and said no more.

Cassandra understood. This was goodbye.

Solas turned and walked down the hall, falling into stride with Cole. Cassandra watched the pair of them go in silence.

As the overwhelming heat of his closeness subsided, she could suddenly feel the shape of the dagger in her boot, pressing against her ankle.

Certainly she owed the world her best effort, to stop him. Certainly she owed _herself_ that...

Freed of the heady closeness of him, the gears of her pragmatic mind shifted and sprang to life. If she aimed for Solas's exposed back, would he have time to react? Would he know? Surely it would do nothing. And yet... he was undoubtedly distracted. Vulnerable. There was a chance. She could land it in his neck, above the lip of his armour. It might be enough, if it found the mark. It was a shot in the dark, but she could be quick...

She stood perfectly still.

She had promised herself she would end him, no matter what it took, and she believed that one day, if it came to it, she could... Yet now, with a shrinking window of opportunity, with her target moving further and further away down that hall, she wondered if she could.

“Solas,” she heard Cole's voice say, as their two dark shapes shrank down the long palace hall together.

"Yes?" 

"Is it still a dance, if there isn’t any music?”

She heard a faint little chuckle from Solas.

The sound of footsteps faded. 

She felt the weight of the concealed dagger, but Cassandra was alone now, standing on the dark mirrored floor. 


	23. All That Might Be

_ There was no word _

_ For heaven or for earth, for sea or sky _

_ All that existed was silence _

_ Then the Voice of the Maker rang out _

_ The first Word _

_ And His Word became all that might be _

—Threnodies 5:1–8

 

Cassandra Pentaghast sipped from a tall glass of bubbling champagne and looked up at the stars. A cool breeze shifted the Divine's robes, as she mused about the events of this last week, seated on a stone bench in the Winter Palace courtyard. The Exalted Council had wound to a close. Lavellan had chosen to shrink the Inquisition down to a bare bones operation, in the service of Divine Victoria.Their mission: to stop Solas from ending the world. No small task.

And yet, if Cassandra had learned anything of Solas, it was that he was very bad at knowing what was good for him. And what was good for him this time was _losing_. Defeating him, of course, would be difficult. He knew everything about them, after all. But Cassandra had faced terrible odds before, and succeeded. This was no different. She saw what must be done, and she would do it. The Inquisition, however diminished, would solve this. The solution might not be obvious now, but they would adapt.

Cassandra was glad for an opportunity to enjoy one last evening with her old friends, before they parted ways once more. Josephine had assured them there was a special event planned, in celebration of the Inquisitor's recent marriage. The various members of the Inquisition milled about, drinking and talking. Bull, Blackwall, and Sera were joking and laughing in the pub, as Dorian and Vivienne argued nearby over the finer points of barrier construction. Varric joined Cassandra on the stone bench, with his own glass of bubbly in hand.

“Feels weird without Cole,” he said, frowning a little. 

“It does,” Cassandra agreed, as the first couple of loud bangs exploded across the night sky above them.

“Fireworks?” Cassandra breathed. “Josephine spared no expense.”

Varric chuckled. 

“Wouldn't expect anything less from Ruffles.”

Cassandra looked up at the bursts of colour shattering across the night sky. Not far away, Cullen and Ellana held hands, laughing and clapping in surprise. 

“Ah. Yes, it is... romantic.” Cassandra sighed, biting back a sting of bittersweet emotion. 

“Romantic?” Varric raised his brows. “You're not getting choked up now, are you, Most Holy?”

Cassandra took a defensive sip of champagne.

They watched a dazzling display of twinkling blue and red shower the sky, then an array of pink and yellow flowers rained down, as if slowed by the time-altering rifts they had once encountered. 

“Varric,” Cassandra said, breaking the comfortable silence. 

“Your Perfection.”

“Will _Swords and Shields_ have a happy ending?”

Varric sighed, then gave her a careful, serious glance. The shimmering fireworks overhead reflected in his eyes, casting his face in alternating swathes of colour. 

“Here's the thing about happy endings,” Varric said, with a note of caution. “They don't last. Every story is a tragedy, if you wait long enough.” His voice was soft, consoling, even if his words were harsh. 

“Oh, Varric. Why would you say that?”

“Sorry. I guess I was just thinking about Bianca, and everything else.”

The fireworks thudded and sizzled far above them.

“I am sorry things didn’t work out, between you two.”

“Yeah well…” He sighed, taking a gulp of champagne. “I can hardly complain, what with you and Solas. That’s got to hurt, still. Hey. If it’s any consolation, you’ll always be able to say that he was literally the ‘man of your dreams’.” Cassandra rolled her eyes. “Sorry. Too soon?” Varric sighed. “Look. Seeker.” The sound of his old nickname for her was music to her ears. An old comfort she had not expected. Solas and Varric had both called her that. It made her feel, somehow, more like herself. “I want you to know that if you ever need a shoulder to cry on..." Varric looked into her eyes, deeply. Cassandra stared back. “...Dorian has one,” he concluded. 

“Ugh.” Cassandra sighed, eyeing the dwarf shrewdly. “Dorian's shoulder is going back to Tevinter soon.”

“Yeah, well. We're all going back somewhere, aren't we?” Varric sighed. Cassandra realized how much she would miss him. 

“Yes. Life goes on,” said Cassandra, softly.

“You know," Varric said, as violet shimmer filled the sky, “I was thinking of writing a new tale, based on the Inquisition. Now that we're downsized anything's game, right? Maybe the Most Holy could bestow her Divine benevolence upon the faithful and penitent denizens of Kirkwall some time soon. I could show you the latest drafts, maybe get some creative input. I'm guessing you could probably contribute to the smuttiest bits. I can see it now: 'The Divine and the Dread Wolf.' I mean I'd have to frame it as fiction. And I'd have to use a pseudonym, obviously, otherwise you'd have to execute me for heresy, but it could be a best-seller. Hmm? Might be therapeutic.” He glanced over at her cheekily. “What do you say?”

“I would love to, Varric,” Cassandra said. It was a terrible idea, of course, but she was delighted just the same. 

Then, she leaned over to place a soft kiss on Varric's forehead. Only, Varric moved slightly and she miscalculated and ended up planting the kiss on the bridge of his nose.

Oh, well. 

The dwarf seemed suddenly to have no idea what to do with his hands. He opened his mouth silently, then Cassandra watched a deep flush spread over Varric's neck and cheeks. It suddenly occurred to her that she had never actually seen Varric blush before.

“I... ahah—” Varric began, fussing with his open collar as the fireworks ended, in a fountain of silver. They heard scattered applause and cheering erupt behind them. 

“Don't read too much into it, Varric,” Cassandra advised. She so rarely got the upper hand with Varric that surprising him brought her a special satisfaction.

“I was just teasing. Well. Half teasing.” Varric cleared his throat. “Are you even allowed to—um, you know— _kiss_ people?” he asked, finally, collecting himself. 

“Since when have I required the Chantry's approval to do what I think is best?” Cassandra asked, a little haughtily. Her wine glass was empty, and the pair of them rose and walked back to toward the others, who were gathered in the villa.

“Oh, right.” Varric barked out a laugh. “Since fucking never. That's how we ended up with an Inquisition.”

As they neared the pub, Varric turned to Cassandra.

“Be sure to write to me, Most Holy. You'll need my help in stopping Dread Chuckles, won't you?”

“Your help is appreciated, Varric, but—”

“Have you been in Thedas lately, Seeker? We aren't in control anymore. You need me.”

He winked. 

“Ugh.”

~ The End.~


End file.
